Because I had a layover in Miami…

He pulled out a crumpled handkerchief from his back pocket and spit something thick and audibly disgusting into it. At some point in the fabric’s life it was white, but at this point it had a crusty beige hue to it. He wiped his mouth with it and hastily shoved it back into his back pocket, leaving a brownish yellow snail trail of his recent deposit on his equally filthy jeans just above the pocket.

“It’s all these gawd damn foreigners, I tell ya,” he said way too loudly for the midday crowd sitting around them at the airport bar. “They’re the reason for all of this shit.”

He grabbed his double Beam, drained half of it, and returned it to the coaster with a clumsy thump.

He didn’t notice the lingering disapproving glances from the older couple five seats down the bar. He was too drunk to give a shit anyway.

“Ho-lee shit, dad,” the son said in a low tone. “We’re in Miami. You can’t say shit like that.”

[Miami International Airport, 2018]