Malcolm stretched his aching back and stepped off the plane in Los Angeles after a torturous 9-hour flight from Tokyo. A large-limbed 6-foot-2 man was not meant to cramp into an economy seat with bad food and even worse service, especially when his neighbor was a sweaty middle-aged American businessman with a bulging waistline and a wheezing snoring problem. The pristine September morning air outside the plane in LAX was dry, crisp and clean, a far cry from the hot and humid stink of the torturing late summer heat in Tokyo. Malcolm took a deep breath and surveyed the bustling airport scenery--he had returned to the country where he labored four arduous years fighting and arguing and evolving with his would-be-lifelong friends within the fortified confine of a tradition-rich private university. Most of them remained in this land of silver and gold while he disappeared quietly to a strange and distant land. In the blink of an eye, six years had passed, and things, surrounding and people had all changed ... or maybe they had only acquire a jaded tint of glaze and are really the same in nature underneath? A spurt of familiar impressions lying dormant in his head awoke and rushed all at once to his senses, causing him a moment of mental lapse. "Bang!" a wavy blond-haired passenger clad in flopping beach sandals hurried past him exiting the gate, slamming his large well-traveled duffel bag onto Malcolm's head. Malcolm rubbed his head in pain as he watched the tanned, sturdily built teenager in oversized shorts and dark-rimmed sunglasses continued his trot in oblivion. "Land of the free. home of the brave, huh?" Malcolm smirked pertly and, recovering his coordinates, headed briskly towards the luggage carousel. A long workday in the Pasadena software development center awaited him.
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Anthony pressed redial mechanically on his cellular phone the minute he stepped inside the gate after his red-eye flight landed from New York in Los Angeles. On the other line was his new manager enveloped by a large vintage red leather chair in a posh lower Manhattan office, verbally coercing Anthony to start his new position as soon as possible. Anthony, with one hand casually sratching his sleepy head, quipped with confidence, "Listen, John, the mini-break between jobs was part of our negotiated deal. The drones ... I mean my clients will survive one way or another for two weeks without me." John, who exhausted every trick in the trade to recruit Anthony away from his rival security firm, was every bit as insistence, "The hell with them drones, Tony! We paid through our noses for you to bleed green for the firm. The market churns Monday to Friday, and an empty Tony's office a day is a million bucks unearned." Anthony chuckled at the half-praise, half-blackmail insinuation, "Don't think I don't appreciate your appraisal, but even a hangman needs a breather once in a while. Besides, I am within Blackberry range in case of emergencies. I am out, John. See you next Monday," Anthony flipped his phone inside his carry-on and let out a loud yawn as he stretched his arms skyward. Dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting navy blue polo-shirt--a refreshing change from the dreary charcoal business suits he wore during his 60-hour workweeks on Wall Street, Anthony's hands had no wedding bands. Instead, his right ring finger was burdened with the weight of his scratched and weathered college ring, reminding him the bygone era of simpler times on the occasions that he serendipitously glanced at it, as he did just now. A quick impulse woke his half-dormant mind, and Anthony narrowed his eyes and scanned like an eagle through the bustling morning travellers walking to and fro. "That big nerd Malcolm should arrive 'bout the same time," Anthony thought to himself, "Ah, hell. I will tease him at dinner. I need a nap." He marched with his carry-on luggage to the rental car center by the exit.
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Luther checked his watch after he guided an elderly woman walking gingerly to the clinic's exit. Luther started his office early on Mondays, as older folks always found new aches and pains over the weekends and were eager to have Luther attended to them bright and early the following day. In response, Luther was more than happy to accommodate their sometimes persistent and demanding requests. After all, this was why he became a doctor--to care for the sick and the old, and besides, he could use the money to undo the mountain of student loans he accumulated during college and medical school. Is this the fruit of his labor after years of burning midnight oil and dissecting cadavers? Is this the perpetual and unchanging state of his life from this moment onwards? Luther stared after the patient in deep thoughts as she paced slowly away. "Doctor So, are you ready for your 9am?" Nurse Nancy spoke from the reception desk, waking Luther from his mental occupation. "Yeah ... yes. Send the next one in," Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Luther smiled embarrassingly at his wife at he returned to his office. Nancy and Luther met in medical school and got married soon after Luther's graduation. Nancy, a tall slender and good natured woman with pertly cut short black hair, was the morning sunshine to Luther's night serenity. "Oh, and I need to .... " He began to speak as he stepped inside his office. "I know, get you outta here by 6pm for your dinner date, right? Don't think I'd forget the long-awaited reunion of the three musketeers! Or was it the three stooges?" Nancy laughed heartily as she returned to her work. Luther bumped his head as the office door closed.
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