george arrived at the airport, clutching his suitcase to his chest and looked around in awe at the bustling traffic of people that was surrounding him. it was larger than he could have ever imagined, a conservatory of people, each with a different destination, a different story, a different reason to be here today.
he had never been to america before, all he knew about the foreign country was the little he'd gathered from corny shows he'd watched when he was younger.
he inhaled deeply, the lush scent of donuts wafting through the air towards him, reminding him of the bakery his flat was on top of back at home.
home.
he felt a pang deep in his gut, he had never travelled outside of england before, he'd always much preferred to stay at home in the comfort of his house where the only thing that could hurt him were the bills and occasionally the wifi disconnecting.
but here was in, standing in the middle of an airport while people hurried around him, with nothing but two days worth of clothes, his phone and a pocketful of change.
speaking of money, he was hungry. his eyes flitted back to the donut stall conveniently placed by the exit. perfect, he could eat on the way to dreams.
he couldn't wait to see florida properly.
the man's shirt was crumpled, it looked like it had been on his body for several days judging by the dark circles underneath his armpits and the tear stains leaking down the front. it was grey and it had been a nice shirt. one of the man's favourites.
george walked to the donut shop, humming a tune to himself, his eyes unusually bright and twinkling. as he skipped along he jangled his change in his pocket like a little boy going to buy a fivers worth of sweets from the corner shop.
his grin was that of a childs as well. wide and toothy, an expression of someone who had so little to fear in the world.
he pushed open the door to the shop and was surprised to see a reasonably large queue, everyone eager to receive the source of the delicious smell drifting through the airport.
it was a good marketing plan he observed to himself. they must have a lot of customers daily.
george looked up from his pondering to see a pretty girl standing in the line, just infront of him. she had blonde hair that fell just below her shoulders and in her hand she clutched a red purse. but it was what she wearing that really got george. an offbrand thrasher hoodie but instead of thrasher it read, 'sapnap.' he laughed to himself, sapnap would be pleased.
as the queue shortened the pretty girl turned to look at george, her lips making an 'o' of surprise as she did so. she looked around his age, probably a senior in university or something and when she faced george he clearly saw her student id.
'h-hi.' she stuttered out, blushing profusely at the british boy.
'hey.' george stuttered out almost as awkwardly, he never had been the best at social interaction.
five minutes later he walked out of the shop with a cinnamon swirl donut and a girl's number.
suddenly the man laughed, a long, cold, bitter laugh, devoid of any emotion. he got it. it was a metaphor. he was the clock. how amusing.
taking a deep bite into his donut george wondered around the airport, trying and failing to find the exit, before remembering that it was by the donut store and cursing to himself in frustration, earning a disapproving glare from to elderly lady next to him.
