Within an hour of landing at LAX, I see:
- Craig Robinson waiting for his luggage at the oversize luggage place. It doesn't seem oversized, but it does let him stand by himself, out of the way.
- Also out of the way, by the wall, there's a woman in her fifties maybe. She's very fit and blonde, perhaps the adult daughter of the woman in wheelchair next to her, who is also blonde but whose face is ashen. She's doubled over in the wheelchair.
- An airline agent and police officer are observing her, and finally help her out of the chair and to the ground.
- Someone brings her a black pillow (I don't know why it strikes me as odd that the pillow is black, but it does. It's like a symbol in a dream, but it's not a dream, it's LA.)
- Next to them, there's a woman holding a baby in a wrap, and another younger woman cooing at the baby sweetly, with warmth.
- Craig Robinson leaves with an airline agent wheeling his bags on a cart. Two young men with a camera and video camera appear out of nowhere.
- Five paramedics arrive and surround the women. They attach what looks like a million wires to the one laying on the ground. She manages to laugh.
- A taxi driver waits at the taxi stand, a trumpet at his lips as he sits in the taxi.
- I catch a taxi and watch as Boeing, Raytheon, and Northrup Grummond pass by in quick succession. I'd forgotten how defense oriented SoCal is.
- Palm trees stand like street lamps with no lights, studding the corners in a grid.