It was a busy afternoon at the airport. People rushed around with luggage, some laughing, some arguing, some tired from long journeys. Flight 227 to West Africa was ready to board. A few passengers waited in the first-class lounge, sipping drinks and scrolling on their phones.
Among them sat a quiet man dressed in a plain black calf tan. His shoes were clean, but not flashy. His bag was small, his face calm, unreadable. He said nothing. He watched everything. He held a first-class ticket. A few people looked at him once, then twice. A Black man alone in the first-class lounge, dressed simply. He didn’t seem like a businessman. Didn’t look rich. Didn’t even have a laptop bag or a wristwatch. But he sat there peacefully, waiting for his flight like everyone else.
When the call came, “First-class passengers, please proceed to gate 4,” he stood up and joined the line. The flight attendant at the gate was a slim woman with bright red lipstick and golden hair tied in a bun. Her name tag read Clara. She smiled brightly at the……Read Full Story Here………………..
