John F. Kennedy Inyetnational Airport is a real airport if only for just its size. As I sit here waiting for Joshua to land, I’m amazed at the size of Terminal Four alone. I truly thought Terminal 4 serviced only Delta, I was wrong. It serves at least 10 other airlines and while other airports close down in the wee hours of the morning, this place never closes.
The passenger arrival level seems to attract the homeless who are just trying to survive another day in from the cold. The guy sleeping in the chair next to me hasn’t been on a plane in years. He appears to have made a makeshift home in the waiting area of Terminal Four. I notice his left foot is wedged under his wheeled salvaged bag. How do I know he’s homeless? His pants are unzipped, his hands haven’t been washed in quite sometime and he has mismatched shoes.
Matthew called me yesterday evening and told me he was going to have Thanksgiving at a homeless in Downtown San Diego. Roberta asked me, “Don’t you wish Matthew was with us?” I actually have a tears in my eyes as I write this as did when she said that. I replied, “I know, me too and if he finally decides to get some help maybe he can.” Until that happens and it may never, he’ll be existing on the streets of San Diego. This too will pass