The Awkward Chronicles

Airports have this smell about them, something between despair in the departure lounge and the over-prized coffee. This smell, well, it slaps you across the face and either makes you itch to get on with boarding already, or makes you long for some company.
I'm cursed with the second kind of desire, as you might have guessed.
I was on my way to Italy to see a friend, to listen to some music, to fall in love with yet another city. All was lovely. Except my dead phone, o tragedy, it left me bored and alone with myself – never a good thing.
After the quick registration and the not-so-quick security control I was looking at the planes slowly being dipped in red by the setting sun. I am often struck speechless with acts of savage beauty that our world produces – a field is sown with cement, covered by planes and other machines, and still, the dusk makes it all into a lovely fireside, nothing amiss. Pure magic.
I think I said that out loud, because someone behind me gave a soft laugh and an Indeed. Now, don't get me wrong, I do get these cravings for company, but I'm a shy-by-choice one, so I usually don't follow through with them – most of us don't, do we?
“Sorry”, I mumbled to the Soft Laugh. I expected it to be the end of that.
“Don't be, dear. Airports are the state of the art, really.”
Airports were fine in my book, but state of the art? Come on! I turned around and found myself facing an old man.
“Really?”
He smiled.
“Quite right, miss, it's the only place where you can make friends and alienate people, at the same time, I might add.”
I smiled.
“Don't believe me? Well, you were clearly impressed by the sun, or the planes, or the pavement, or the magic that is pure magic. Said so out loud. You clearly wanted to share this one with the world. But nowadays you can't just come up to someone and strike a conversation about planes or magic, can you? No, comfort zones inside your phones and players, everyone makes desperate eyes at everyone wanting to chat, and don't, best to not interrupt the sacred bond of man and technology? Bah!”
“It's just that my phone died,” I said awkwardly.
“But you would like to talk, wouldn't you?” he asked.
“Yeah? I think I would.” I smiled.
“Good! I'm going to Paris and I hate airport coffee!” said Mr. Old Man.
“I'm going to Milan and just then I liked how the sun played on metal.”
Thwack!
Airports have this smell about them, you know? Like boredom, or stale coffee. Or a new friendship.
Just as long as you let it find you.