A man or maybe a woman. There was a toolbox. A yellow toolbox with a black top. Your standard large toolbox.
I was looking for my bag in the Chicago Midway baggage claim area. This toolbox was probably on the same flight as my black Samsonite suitcase. Perhaps they laid next to each other.
Somewhere en route, the toolbox broke open. When it reached the carousel, pliers, screws, nuts, black handled hammer, spilled onto the conveyor belt. Nails. Drill bits, everywhere.
Next to me stood a rainbow scarved fella -- about my age. We glance at each other, and nod in sympathetic agreement, thankful it's not our skivvies and sneakers lying naked on the conveyor belt, waiting to be reclaimed; thankful we are not the tools waiting to find the man or maybe the woman.
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