Terminal

John F. Kennedy International Airport. November, 2015.

It’s a 3.5-hour layover and I’m not going to use my phone.

Instead, I go to the newsstand and scour the racks for a plain blank notebook. I can’t find one in all the store, but I refuse to believe the written word has been demoted to an anachronism like cash and plastic straws, so I ask for help.

To my relief, the woman behind the counter says, “Let me show you what we have,” and leads me to the corner of the store where I had just been standing. She squeezes herself between a low shelf and cases of Smart Water stacked in a tower and, like a magic trick, pulls out a 6x9 reporter-style writing tablet. She looks at me, doubtful. Though I do appreciate a nice aesthetic, I am only after utility this morning. “I’ll take it,” I say.

I pay the cashier and tuck the notebook into the bulky bag resting on top of my carry-on suitcase then glide down a ramp to a windowed restaurant filled with people who, like myself, are in transition. Some are…