So caught some fresh fish.
This woman's track suit top was lime green, a brilliant colour. She knew someone else who was waiting to meet a flight, and they chatted as they stood together, until their 'people' came in.
Then one of the guys from the other film turned up to pick someone up too, so I had someone to talk with, and, if only for a moment, looked like I belonged there, like the lime green lady.
Then there was this bloke.
Who had a bunch of flowers wrapped in orange cellophane. He paced around a while, then sat and sent SMS's. Meeting a lover perhaps ? Was intrigued. He decided to take the cellophane off, and shoved it, crunching, in a bin, then stood watching the doors. And there was a small toy Witch nestled in amongst the blood orange gerberas and palm leaves.
A woman came through, steering a trolley solid with suitcases, and a little blonde girl perched atop. He met them quietly, a kiss and the girl, clearly his daughter, added the flowers to the pile. A man who brings flowers to meet his wife and daughter at the airport. There is a whole world in that.
Give him his dues.
There is a brilliant temporary anxiety both sides of doors like these, for the passengers, that doubt that, having left the earth's security, you might never be relocated back on it. Will there be someone to meet me ? Will my spot of gravity still be there ?
For the waiters, the worry of missing the person you have come for, the worry of who they will be ? If it is a stranger, will they see your company board, will they want to ride upfront and chatty, or in the back, and sullen ?
If it is family, or friends, or significant others, how will this time away have changed them ? Time spent without you ?
Airports are where you can see the gaps the world opens in us.