Tempesta

He sat in his car, his seat reclined, staring up at the airport’s looming FAA tower. He liked to come here when he suffered migraines, it was quiet, and aside from the occasional air traffic controller coming down to smoke a cigarette, he felt completely isolated. It was a Friday night and he wasn’t curious what-so-ever as to what anyone else was doing. When he was younger he’d have a bowl of ice cream, or perhaps he stepped onto the back patio to throw pebbles at trees…