“Ah this is interesting…” observed Phil looking at his screen. “What’s that?” Asked his buxom colleague. “Flight 221B has been diverted ...rom Monaco.” “Ooh Monaco! That’s different!” Exclaimed Danielle, adjusting her jacket buttons. Life as a Customs official at the airport had little lighter moments. Now and again, they would rumble the odd drug smuggler or illegal immigrant. By and large though, it was the same anonymous people going about their business. The Monaco flight had been rescheduled. ‘You wanna coach?’ he said, as if there were options. I didn’t think there were options, but for this conversation I’d pretend. ‘Sure,’ I pretended aloud. ‘Maybe if something comes up?’ I said. Joe nodded, nodded longer than usual for this sort of thing. He said, ‘Okay, I’ll see what’s around.’ And we let go hands. No commitments. Another long career fading out. There was no Carol to go home to, not for some years, so I didn’t hurry from the locker room. But I rarely hurried. Lots of people. More

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