Nobody here is looking out the window. There's a plane thirty metres away, engines cooling, and it registers as scenery - the same way the floor registers, or the light.

Three people walking in step without having agreed to. Different flights, different reasons, one direction. Everyone moving at the pace of someone who has done this often enough to know exactly how long the walk takes and precisely how much time they have.

What used to be extraordinary becomes a corridor you cross twice a month. That's not a loss. It's just what happens when something works.