The Losses
I was heading towards the airport exit when I spotted the old man. At first glance, he looked no different from the other people waiting in the hallway, holding up printed or handwritten pickup signs. The only thing that made him stand out, besides the crumpled piece of paper he was holding, was his hairstyle. Courageously bald in the center, with wisps of salt-and-pepper hair swaying gently in the waft, the old man looked almost comical in his reasonable dark jacket and gray T-shirt. When our eyes met, he smiled at me genially, as if he had nothing to do with the sign, which read: