Imagine it.
I'd bring enough money to last me a few months and then get a job at a small souvenir shop. I would never be hungry, or without a roof over my head, and I would memorize the routes of the security guards as to never get caught because I would constantly blend in. If New York is the city that never sleeps, an airport is the building that never sleeps. Amidst all the weary travelers, there I would be. Me and the planes.
I'd never be lonely; I could make friends with the daily passers-by. Each day, a new group of people to observe, to share stories about life with. After all, people will listen to anything when they're bored. And my friends could visit whenever they wanted... I wouldn't even have to give them directions. Everyone knows where the airport is.
Running away to the airport can't be a new idea. I could collect all the run-aways and we could have our own little town. Freedom Town. And every night at quarter til 3 (AM, that is), we would gather and discuss all the things that really matter, and one day start our own little church. Church of the Airplanes, because we'd have the most essential thing in common. Airplanes fly and so would we.
Differently, of course.
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