I sit in Sacramento airport’s Terminal B, surveying the fields to the north.
It’s quiet here now. The flights to Seattle and LA have pushed back, emptying the terminal of their travelers. The ventilation fans are taking a rest. A lady nearby chats on her mobile.
A kid in a baggy knit hat pulls his guitar out of a case adorned with a God sticker. He tunes his guitar briefly, then strums a few chords. I take my empty Frappuccino cup to the trash as an excuse to move closer to the guitar — and farther from the cell phone. He begins singing. I try to make out the words, but he sings softly.
A TSA announcement drones over the PA. No one pays any heed and the kid starts another song, a little louder now, then quits to listen to a gate change announcement. The kid puts his guitar away and walks back to the center of the terminal.
My plane has landed and passengers emerge.
It’s nice to be headed home.
