“Thank you very much,” I said.

At nine forty-five, the main aisle of Concourse C felt like a narrow tunnel walled in by noise.

Sharp terminal announcements rang out over the loudspeakers every thirty seconds, calling departures for Chicago, Dallas and Tampa.

I carried my duffel in my left hand and my paper cup of cold coffee in my right, walking at a steady military pace past the newsstands and food counters.

People stepped aside as I went by.