In the distance at the far end of the concourse an air conditioning machine was making it's distinctive noise.... "pocketa-pocketa-pocketa".

Anson blinked a few times, shook his head, to clear his thoughts and gazed around him. He was back in the airport with the smell of freshly ground coffee. The crew of the DC3 were still there, they were chatting about their latest trip, delivering some Government VIP to Niagara. Slim had buzzed the footbridge at the Falls on his way home, "You should have seen the looks on their faces when the crate swooped down on them....."
Without making it obvious, he pinched the back of his hand. It hurt, so he must be awake, but it had all seemed so real. He could smell the resin from the broken branches and the memory of the needles prickling his skin lke a hedgehog was so vivid he was sqirming in his set.