Morning Airports

Airports in the early morning have a delightful eeriness about them. Huge empty corridors lined with windows that look out over empty pavement that's painted in the busiest of fashions. Beyond that, fields and rolling hills full of houses belonging to people who haven't yet considered entering the waking world.
The hallways concuss with every footstep, and in this case, every keystroke. My line of sight gobbles up thirty one gates, all of which are empty save one single man sleeping in a chair two hundred meters away. If there were carpets here, there would be a lone old woman vacuuming. The sound of the vacuum would carry through the terminal as if it was purpose built to ferry vacuum noises.
For every person here, there is more air than that person could go through in a week. Conversely, in two hours, everyone here will feel suffocated by the masses of people swarming around them. At least I'll be in a jam-packed steel tube in that disobeys gravity by then.