Prompt: "Go hard mode: Drop Dead Communication"-Firelord65/Dragonmaster65


Every third Wednesday of the month, LaGuardia Airport has an extra janitor on the third shift. A short, balding man whose jumpsuit seems to be tailored too well to have been picked up from a uniform store. His thick framed glasses are the most notable thing about his face.

He empties the garbage cans and sweeps the floor in the farthest terminals. He takes two breaks; each fifteen minutes and is spent drinking weak coffee. He takes his lunch hour near a bank of nearly forgotten storage lockers at the end of the duty free zone.

He spends it eating a pastrami sandwich from Katz Delicatessen and a bag of sea salt kettle chips washed down with ginger ale made from cane sugar.

He writes in a beat up spiral notebook. Anyone who gets a glance at the pages would see lines of symbols. At the end of his lunch, he throws his trash out, and returns the notebook to its rightful place along with a small trinket wrapped in paper decorated with bunnies.

When six AM comes around, he leaves, and by six oh five, there is a blip in the security servers.


Every second Tuesday of the month, a woman spends her three hour layover near the storage lockers in LaGuardia's duty free. She's wiry and blonde, likes to wear hats with logos from obscure sports teams. Lately she's got a preference for teams from Alabama.

She pays too much for a candy bar and a magazine she won't read then settles at a table with a beat up notebook. Anyone watching her would see her running a finger vertically down the page and smiling.

She writes her own entry, and draws in the margins sometimes. Then, before having to make her way to a gate across the concourse to catch a red eye flight back to the West Coast, returns the notebook to its place along with a gift in a box covered in teddy bears.

She makes her gate with six minutes to spare. By the time she's in the air, all traces of her are gone from the security servers from camera footage to her boarding pass.


Every other month, usually on a Sunday, two baggage handlers clock in and then disappear into the bowels of a randomly chosen airport in a randomly chosen city somewhere in America. One is a short, balding man with thick glasses and the other, a tall, blonde woman in a baseball hat.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow," Mozzie says as he and Parker steal a car from long term parking.

"Just walk beside me and be my friend," Parker finishes as she drops into the driver's seat.

When Mozzie and Parker leave their randomly chosen city, several private collectors report missing items of immense value to their insurance company from a bottle of pre-WWII wine to a complete collection of early aughts era Furbies.