Layover

Well, from what I can tell, I like Cincinnatti.
Not that you can really judge a city from it's airport, I probably just like airports.

There is a lot more ethnic diversity here than in Utah.
Again, that designation means very little.

They took a while to get me my sandwich at Chic-fil-a, but the woman gave me a drink to compensate for the wait. She was an overweight young black woman. Her name tag said "Joy". She was polite, but didn't exhibit any of the mirth her name tag might suggest. I appreciated the drink.

Eavesdropping.
There is a bald fat man with a lisp and a goatee jabbering into his phone across from me, telling stories he must think are very funny, what with that wheezing laugh. He seems almost a characature of sorts. If I knew him, and I was a casting director, I'd keep his number handy for the next big slapstick comedy.
There is a middle aged woman with some Brit-ish accent talking next to me on her phone. She could possibly be South African or Australian, I can't tell. She just found out that an acquintance of hers died sudenly and rather young of a heart attack. She seems surprised but not too shaken up about it. She is much more interested in the friend on the other end of the phone than their prematurely departed mutual friend.
There is a man across from me, elderly, with hair white as a polar bear on his crown, then fading more to gray near his neck. He is quietly reading a book, looking through the bottom edge of his glasses.

I wonder if somebody else here happened to be taking notes on the people around them, what they might say about me. I suppose it all depends on the person writing.

Hopefully we'll be boarding soon. In the meantime, I'll continue reading my book on indie film producing.

Stay tuned. More to come.