Who can know the thoughts of the bag handler? To and fro, her cart paces the tarmac like a lioness on the prowl. Her eyes dart between terminals, measuring the luggage with an appraising eye. That one! Pedal floored, the cart lurches forward, tearing across hard concrete towards gate A12. Desperate suitcases and duffel bags await their fate, adorned with identifying trivialities of twisted ribbons, funny buttons, and scribbled tags. They huddle together, shivering in the brisk air, wondering what lies in store. Despite all her training, the sheer magnitude of the travel containers stacked up takes her breath away. Seemingly reaching to the sky, the dozens of bags are stacked in perfect alignment. The arrangement speaks so strongly, to even flabbergast an untrained passerby. Yet she is alone in this world, unable to share her awe with anyone, a solitary dot splayed upon this vast concrete wasteland.
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