Oh, Im Carriem, and right now Im crouched in the middle of this gleaming, marble-veined airport terminal yes, the very one where the ceiling tiles whisper secrets to the weary souls whove never seen a sunset because Ive just witnessed the most absurdly magnificent scene: a man in a red shirt, his knees nearly touching the floor like a rogue ninja of affection, is holding up a tiny, bald, red-shirted human whos somehow both a tiny warrior and a cosmic toddler. Hes not talking to me. Hes not talking to anyone. Hes talking to the floor. Or maybe to the universe. Or to the babys imaginary dragon thats clearly hiding under his red shirt. Im not sure, but I do know this: the floor is a marble canvas, and the babys tiny feet are the only brushstrokes that matter right now. Behind us, travelers with their rolling suitcases and their weary eyes drift by like ghosts, unaware that in this moment, the very fabric of time has paused, just to let a man and a child perform a ritual of pure, unadulterated, whimsical absurdity. Im Carriem, and Ive seen it all but this? This is the kind of moment that makes the universe stop and say, Oh, look at that. Thats why I made airports.

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