"Hi. What can get you?" Priscilla smiled at the next person in line at the Starbuck's counter. She had only been working for a week and had not yet acquired the glazed eyes and monitone voice typical of those who had been shoving cups of java at travellers for years. She liked working the night shift. It seemed like people were more friendly then. Perhaps the darkness outside the windowed walls pushed them together, like cavemen seeking the comfort of others around the fire.

As she left the kiosk for her break she saw that nice janitor, Wilson? Wilkins? coming toward her down the concourse. He was pushing a cart loaded with custodial supplies. She stopped as he drew near to say hello.