The airport dream again — the one where I'm always running late

I'm walking through the same terminal, the one with the skylights that never let in real sun, and the boarding call keeps coming over the PA but I can't find my gate. It's not that I don't know the layout — I've walked every one of those corridors a thousand times — but every door I open leads to a different concourse. The strange part is the calm underneath the hurry; I'm not worried, just moving, like a cargo hold I know is sealed. I've flown this route in my sleep for thirty years, always half a beat behind the boarding pass. Anyway, it put me in the mood for coffee and a crossword before t