Slow Recoil. C.B. Forrest

Pearson International Airport. The language. The faces from around the world moving freely on the streets. Everything open and free. And new, so new, as he had said. Some things were better, yes, but many things were not. He thought of telling her about the money he had won, but he kept it to himself.

      He excused himself and went to the bathroom. When he came back, he said, “Will you miss this place?”

      He watched her.

      “Some things,” she said. “I suppose, yes.”