Fosco hated airports almost as
Much as he hated motels. It wasn’t
The fact that they were crowded or the
Smell that somehow managed to be an
Overbearing mix of mildew and
Fabric softener, it was the lines.
The thought of being stuck in line when
Shit popped off made Fosco’s toes tingle.
His instincts were to lay hands first and
Ask questions when the mofo was on
The floor, he wouldn’t know how to react
Standing in a line of panicking,
Screaming people. So when he got off
The plane at PDX, he rejoiced
That he was done with required lines.
He waited in a short queue to pick
Up his rental car, catching a glimpse
Of the video the guy ahead
Of him was watching. Screams and growls were
Followed by the unsteady voice of
A news reporter. “The monsters seem
To be moving south of Seattle.
Everyone close should remain indoors.
The National Guard has been deployed…”
The anchor was interrupted by
The woman screaming beside Fosco.
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