22:50 p.m.
I'm packing my four-wheeled bags to leave this murky-weathered city called London and is still deciding whether to pack my beanies for the "cold" New York City weather. Even though my flight is at midnight and I should have been there by now, the airport is roughly around a twenty-minute drive from where I'm at, with the traffic of course. Finally deciding on loading five beanies - a classic black, a grey cat design, a studded and thickly knitted coral, a thin camouflage one, and a Mickey Mouse-eared exclusive - I take a seat on the luggage, pulling the zipper around the pink case with a satisfying zip.
I glance at the clock, realizing I should get a move on and get out of the house. I got up from the luggage, pulling it into a vertical position from the carpeted floor and overlook the room for my black Chanel purse and matching Vera Bradley carry on to see them resting up against the door frame. I roll the large luggage towards the door frame, grabbing the carry on and purse, while thinking about how New York is like.
Is it as cold as everyone says it is?
Are the people rude there?
Gosh, I need to stop over thinking about it and just go-with-the-flow!
Is it already 23:14? I need to leave to Heathrow just about now, I thought as I lock the door to my flat. I walk down the hall and into the lift with the some-what comforting music. Feeling a vibration inside my pocket, I pull out my white iPhone looking at the home screen. Blocked number is calling. I shut my phone off putting it back into my small pocket, waiting for the ding to tell me I got to the lobby. I think about the taxicabs waiting to be driven to any destination at anytime and if there's going to be one available in the basement of the flat building. The lift doors open and I'm met with the waft of musk, vanilla, and gas from the basement oil burners and the taxicabs.
I walk towards to the first taxicab I see and tap the window of the driver's seat. The window lowers, revealing a man in his mid-fifties, and the man grumbles a greeting, asking where I'd like to go.
"I-I'd l-like t-to g-go t-to T-Terminal T-Three i-i-in H-Heathrow," I mutter at the man, looking around nervously.
"Of course, get in and I'll get your there in about ten minutes, is that fine?" the man examines his watch, while putting my luggage into the boot of the cab. I nodded getting into the cab, pulling out my phone, and opening the twitter app, so the driver wouldn't make conversation with me. Luckily, he didn't make chat and before I knew it we were at the airport.
"T-thank y-you s-so m-much," I credit the man, leaving the cab to grab my luggage. He smiles at me in response and waits until I get inside the building to drive off. After a couple of minutes, I lastly get to the check-in center to drop of my luggage as well as check in for the flight, and the lady tells me that I was the last one to make it. Perfect, right? I nod, walking away from the lady, getting through the security. After the security check, I try to find Gate Forty-Three since it is 23:45 and I can't find anybody to guide me towards where it might be, since I forgot where I put my glasses. I look over to the tables to see just one person at one of the far back tables; a man probably around his twenties listening to music with a blackish-brown punked up mohawk - the sides of his head was shaved close to the scalp and the hair on top of his head was left long. I walk over to the closer tables, taking a seat at the edge, propping my elbows up, and resting my head in my hands, thinking about what I'm going to do if I miss that flight. I sigh heavily and start tearing up, knowing I can't buy another ticket.
