Duality;Solaris Vol. 1

Chapter 4-4: Revolving Retrospection

As the rage boils throughout his veins, it's his mouth that moves for him. Each and every word had heightened his annoyance into anger, and anger back into irritation. A self-fulling prophecy to be sure. The fuel to his flames; the tirade grows in spite of the night skies dropping temperatures. These words blow into something even his assailant is sure to be taken off-guard about. As if a parent lecturing a toddler, his assailant lays, injured and, attentive at the mouthy suit— much unlike the padded man had a choice in the matter. From a trepidatious gulp from his assailant, the suit's tirade begins to retrace their 'interesting' day.

The suit sneers, "Oh, you... Heh heh heh, when was it you began to pain my ass today? The street outside the trading room? That cutie's apartment building? No, now that I'm looking at your pitiful face, I remember it now. The airport."

•••••
13-hours earlier—

    The time is now seven forty-nine in the morning, and a commercial flight from Japan has arrived. It's numerous passengers take their leave one after another with every yawn and ache a plane of such duration graciously gifts. Of the numerous flock in all different directions, there's one in particular that takes his leave earlier than all the others. A Japanese man in his prime of twenty-two clothed in rather posh, inconspicuous summer-time clothing. His inconspicuousness is nigh perfect. And, yet, this man dons an extravagant man-bun styling in contrast to all his hardest, blending efforts. Although suspicious, the healthy man carries little more than a decently sized backpack slung across his right shoulder. Welcomed by the city's brisk morning sun, the man covers his unprotected eyes enough to enjoy the sight before taking in the rest of this day to come.

    At the same time, people from the airport's associating hotels and housing begin to make their way into the airport and surrounding areas. From one night stands to grumpy victims of never-ending layovers, each leave to start their own weekday as well. Of this gangly cliqué, a unkempt man in business attire stumbles his way to his destination. A man with a slicked-back crew cut accompanying his unkempt clothing bids adieu to his female midnight company confidently strolls past the spacious crosswalk heading towards the airport. Casually taking his time, the unkempt playboy finds himself under the massive awning as he encroaches upon his destination.

    Making their way across to the airport's taxi lanes, each find themselves side-by-side in the service's waiting line for their way back into the city they call home. One blinded by the early sun and the other blocked by the reflective aviator sunglasses, both meet face to face— much to their environmental obliviousness.

    The airport's early hustle and bustle arrives just on time as the clocks strike 8am. And, thus, the traffic comes in tow. From the honks of slowly passing vehicles to the shouts of aggressive anxiety heckles all throughout the building's entrance, those waiting to leave find themselves stuck at the whim of these early morning blues. Those standing in the taxiways waiting lines become acquainted with the many shoulders and luggage of those rushing on by. The pint up itching from the numerous little annoyances would affect anyone that stand to endure them— especially those stuck wanting to leave.

    The bumps and screeching encompassing from all angles, the fuse had been running short with every minute that passes. The line had shrunk down to him and the poshly-dressed Japanese man a spot behind. Be it either due to the reflective glares from the playboy suit's sunglasses or something to do with his morning bedhead appearance, he catches the attention of this Japanese man. Neither knowing more than a cursory glance of each other. This quickly sways to the wayside as the incoming foot traffic takes precedence to the playboy suit's attention.

    While many more have since taken up an even longer line behind them, that remained their problem now— or so the playboy would assume to think. As the Japanese man continues to unsuccessfully stare at him in secrecy, there comes another least expected. With a tap on the playboy's back, an elderly man speaks, "Hey, sonny. Where do you think is someone to carry my and my wife's bags?"