Airport: Brooch

A world infrastructures Romanticism sound and airport-tale offering a special image/light for Earth-transit soupy field goals.

Airport films caught our modern fascination with choreography of social hubs for human superstitions, and this late-Saturday image-tale is loosely drawn from the excellence of such civilization-simulations storytelling. Thanks for reading, 

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I was inside LAX, the West's great tower/hub of transit and hospitality-readings and preparing for a rather normal and sane overground Earth-transit lines of securities and even wanted to meet a nice lady en-route to somewhere, perhaps detouring my agenda to fly-away to Brussels with the $15M I made on Wall-St. during the 2009 mini-crash (Ford). Well, life's funny, and this image-rich tale reveals it, inside the airport.

ANNOUNCEMENT: There's a suspect-woman with explosives inside our airport.

TRAVELER: Goodness us; surely, there's some trekker who can offer heroics!

TRAVELER: I hear she's got like a bottle of acid to go with her plastic.

TRAVELER: God doesn't rule (Selfie-like).

My name's Amlan Satan, and I'm an Algerian-American Catholic Bostonian and hoped to trek to Belgium for an early 'princely' retirement when my life was detoured inside LAX (wow). I was inside the gem-store in the duty free section of the great Western tower/hub of transit and hospitality when I met Asya, a woman from Kuwait, who's not the subject of this Selfie-dodecahedrons portrait of human life/race field goals of leviathan/uncertainty.

ASYA: How'd you guess I'm not a terrorist or something, as a Muslim-lady?

ME: How'd you guess I'm not some flashy American prince who likes narcotics?
ASYA: I suppose you give this place some extra credit human-realm charms, man.

ME: Boy, you're gorgeous...you're the frill, Asya (ha).

ASYA: I might be a terrorist...watch your LAX vanity, sweetheart (ok).

ME: Thanx.

Horror-shows are bound to become real, and Asya really was linked to some rogue operation, with some blood-diamond nonsense, and I was in her path, but she wasn't the terrorist reported inside the airport that day I was there, and we fell in love, and she came to Brussels with me and left-behind her old/dark life (wow). They didn't catch the terrorist in LAX that day, but it was a false-alarm, a simple nasty paranoia-threat posed by one of the dark-souls of my mod-Selfie age of lifestyle/traffic disorientations for leviathan/uncertainty.

ASYA: This airport/airplane food is stellar, sweetheart.

ME: Shut up and kiss me (It's the Blue-Planet, wow).

ASYA: Cool (leviathan/uncertainty).

Asya and I got married and had a darling-son (Damian) for whom I'd get lovely Xmas-airport toys, to remind him of how one fateful day, inside an Earth-airport, I found both danger and helmets (for the Ego).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)