Perched on her luggage cart is a peacock.
I hear a commotion. “They’re following me,” she says.
A crowd charges pointing fingers and phones, laughing and shouting.
“What the hell?”
“You’re not taking that on a plane.”
Crying, she tells them she has anxiety; the bird helps her cope.
People shove, elbow for a look. I tell them to back off. Leave her alone. That they don’t know her. We all struggle.
She shakes my hand. “I’m Erin, and this is Louie.”
Take care of yourselves.