Devonne Brown

Daphne Drumke waited for her suitcase to pop out of the baggage terminal at Terminal three in Heathrow. There were everything but chickens in terminal three. A goat herd just passed. Daphne watched an armed guard roll his eyes at a well dressed woman in stilettos  leading a St. Bernard and twin boys, all on leashes. 

Daphne’s purple suitcase popped out of the hole in the luggage carousel and she moved forward to retrieve it. “Here, let me get that for you,” a thick cockney voice attached to a thick forearm reached forward to grab it. Snaggled teeth in a dark heavy beard smiled down at her. 

“Thank you, I’ll take it from here,” Daphne said with a polite smile. 

“Do you know where you’re off too?” said the snaggled smile?

“Victoria Station, do you know which way to the trains from here?” asked Daphne.

“You want to go down two escalators and follow the signs. Can’t miss it. I can take you there if you’d like,” said the snaggle toothed stranger. I’m headed that way myself. “Going into to London are you?”

“No, I’m headed on to Portsmouth. Just need to go to Victoria first,” said Daphne.

“You’re American,” said Snaggles. “What are you doing in Portsmouth? Watching Pompey play? They’re terrible at the football.” 

“That’s where my friends live, so that’s where I’m going. Thanks for your help,” Daphne didn’t want to talk to Snaggles anymore. She was tired from her flight, she had her bag, and terminal three was getting on her nerves. She wanted to get to the train station to relax on a train to Portsmouth. 

It would be another couple of hours on the train, where she’d watch the country go by. She was dead into her book, and could possibly finish it if she got lucky enough to get a window seat, a jug of sherry, and a cheese and onion pasty on the train. American trains were so uncivilized. It was impossible to get sherry and a pasty on any of them. She looked forward to it with all her heart. 

Snaggles still hovered over her. He was impossible to ditch, so she started walking. He walked with her, speaking in rhyming slang. “Apples and pears my dear, watch for the moving stairs.” He was referring to the escalators. 

Daphne was beginning to think she’d never ditch the guy when a woman came screeching out of nowhere. “Trouble and strife, trouble and strife,” he said under his breath. The screeching woman, who apparently was his wife, grabbed his ear and dragged him away. Daphne stared open-mouthed at the scene, then continued to look for apples and pears. Terminal three had everything but chickens.d everything but chickens.