I walk out of the terminal into the slush. This gray place isn’t cold enough or desolate enough to be pretty.

People in puffy jackets and scarves crowd the curb, waiting for rides. Chittering-chattering. I remember how to speak their language, even though the last time I was here, I had barely learned to speak. I yank my cap as low as it will go. The lobes of my ears are still freezing.

My eye catches on a man. I’m not interested in him; I’m interested in the crate of puppies at his feet, and the sign he’s holding that says, “Take Home a Christmas Puppy.”

What kind of monster sells puppies at an airport?

I walk over to the monster to mess with him. “This is departures,” I say. “Doesn’t it make more sense to sell a puppy at arrivals?”

“I suppose it does.” He looks me up and down. I think anyone with eyes could tell I have nice curves even under this jacket. His eyes fixate on my face. “Where are you coming from?”

“Somewhere colder than this, believe it or not,” I say. “You could also sell the puppies at the ice-skating rink downtown, if that’s still around. There are a lot of kids there. Maybe they can harass their parents into buying one.”

“That’s a good idea too.” He lowers the scarf over his face and I can see that he has black stubble on his chin. “So, what brings you to the worst city in the world?”

“I used to teach geometry, but I quit my job. Now I’m homeless and my boyfriend left me.”

His eyes go wide.

“Just kidding!” I say. “Maybe I’m the kind of criminal who smashes up car windows. Well, the only true thing I can tell you is that I’m starving.” I look over at a vending machine advertising Godiva chocolate-covered strawberries. What kind of place has Godiva chocolate for sale through a vending machine – outdoors? How long can a chocolate-covered strawberry stay in a vending machine without going bad? Who’s going to pay six dollars for a piece of fruit that comes out of a vending machine?

The puppies whine and paw at their crate. An elderly woman walks up wearing gold circular glasses. Snot drips off the end of her nose. “I love puppies,” she says. “I’ll take them all. My Fifi died last week and Torro died the month before so I need dogs in my life again.” She made a tutting sound of disapproval. “Selling these beauties in an airport of all places! I have never seen such a thing.”

“You promise to take good care of them?” said the man.

The woman takes out her wallet and slips out a couple of crisp hundreds. I lean over, not caring that she gives me a dirty look, and see that she has several more hundreds in her wallet. “I’ll give them a life of luxury,” she says.

The long-faced man stuffs the cash in his pocket, picks up the crate, and holds it out towards the woman. She claps her hands and a young man in a suit jogs up pushing a luggage cart already piled high with brown leather designer bags. He puts the crate of puppies on the top of the luggage stack. “Gently, gently!” the rich lady huffs. Two minutes later, they’ve disappeared into the parking deck across the street.

I look at the man, now without his puppies but two hundred dollars richer. He takes a ticket out of his pocket. “Well, that’s a third of the cost, I guess.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I’m supposed to be in the air right now,” he says. “Been planning this trip for months. North Sentinel Island. But on the walk here I saw those puppies in a ditch…Too far to walk to the animal shelter. Too busy to get a cab. Figured I’d sell the puppies because people always assume things are more valuable if they’re for sale.” He straightens his hat. “Well, hopefully that lady takes care of them.”

What kind of a person walks to the airport?

“When’s your flight?” I say.

“An hour ago.” He twirls the ticket around, like a cheerleader’s baton passed from one finger to another. “I wanted a sign telling me I should stay here and I got one.”

I snort. “I wanted a sign telling me I shouldn’t come here, and I never got one, and so here I am.” A car passes by with a geometric bumper sticker. “Huh. A hendecagon. I haven’t seen one of those in a while. Eleven never fits anywhere.” But the universe would fall apart if somehow eleven stopped existing.

I start to walk away, in the direction of the hendecagon-emblazoned car. “I wasn’t lying about being a car thief, by the way. But it was just one car, just one time. My ex-boyfriend’s car. To get to the airport.”

[Featured Image from Wikipedia. Creative Commons license]