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52 airport There are still some wreaths in front of the cell phone shop. And across from the Cinnabon a fiber-optic Christmas tree is throbbing like a heart. A man in camouflage is reading Car and Driver at the newsstand. A woman in camouflage is trying on pink headphones at the music store. And five or six young camouflaged guys are lounging like lords in front of the McDonald’s. Seeing them up close is like seeing a shy animal. I like their sand-colored backpacks, their soft new boots. With their shorn heads they are attentive as deer. But now their flight is called. The holidays are over. They stand and shuffle toward the gate. From where I’m sitting they look like distant, cloud-mottled dunes. ...

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