pearson international airport smells like...

anxiety and business. it is monday at 6 am. terminal one is newly gigantic. the air is cold, thin, metallic and populated by superindustrial jet engine fuel, european perfume, starbucks coffee, laundered uniforms. a flock of japanese school girls with brightly coloured suitcases, pigtails and plaid skirts break formation. they are thrilled and scurrying. a few men in printed shorts and thong sandals finger their boarding passes nervously waiting to check their sensible black and navy blue suitcases, respectively. next to me a blonde in stilettos, bare legs, taps her foot. i liked her especially. she was flying to montreal.