JFK was chaos. Delayed flights, crying babies, people dragging luggage like they were fleeing a warzone. I was just trying to get to Rome with my sanity intact when she arrived—loud, entitled, impossible to ignore.
Her voice sliced through the terminal like a siren. She stood near Hudson News, bright red coat, phone held out like a torch, FaceTiming on full volume. “I told her I wasn’t gonna do that. Not my job. I don’t care if she cries.”
Right behind her, her tiny white dog squatted on the floor and took a dump on the tile, rhinestone collar glinting like it was proud of the mess. An older man tried to intervene, kindly pointing it out. She didn’t even blink. “Mind your business, Grandpa.”
