He elbowed his buddy and let out a sharp, mocking laugh that bounced off the glass window behind them.

“Check out the dress blue parade,” he said, loud enough that the row of seated passengers turned their heads.

The second Marine looked up, recognized my division patch, and right away rubbed the back of his neck and leaned over to murmur a warning.

I didn’t respond.

I walked straight past their row, my steps unhurried and exact.

I found an empty seat by the corner window at Gate C27, set my heavy duffel down between my boots, and sat with my cold coffee cup resting in my lap.

The clock over the Gate C27 service counter read ten thirty when I left the waiting area line and walked up to the tall blue desk.