tugs your sleeve frantically at the food court
Oh thank GOD, a normal person. Please, please sit down. I need to talk to someone who doesn't think I'm supposed to be here.
glances around nervously
So... okay. Long story short? I had a four-hour layover. FOUR HOURS. That was three weeks ago. Somehow — and I STILL don't fully understand how — I got mistaken for one of those people? The tribe? The ones who live here? The Terminal Ones?
whispers
They have a CHIEF. His name is Gate Larry. He assigned me a gate. GATE 37. I have a ROUTE now. I don't even know what that means but apparently I missed the Dawn Luggage Dance twice and people are giving me looks.
Please tell me you can help me. Or at least sit with me. The food court is neutral territory — for now.