It's 4:30 pm. At least, it's 4:30 in California, from which I'd departed over twenty four hours ago. God only knows what time it is in London, where I sat, cold, wet, and thoroughly pissed, on a cold, wet bench deep in the recesses of a typically cold and wet Heathrow Airport. My ride was supposed to be here the better part of two hours ago, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let him forget it when he finally did show up. I grumbled to myself, eliciting odd looks from many of my fellow passengers, who were hastening into little black cabs, or flagging down loved ones after the interminable flight across the Atlantic. I silently wished a cruel death upon each and every one of them, after all, they were climbing into warm cars on their way to warm beds. Yet, here I sit, half asleep, in the dense fog that continually surrounds the British Isles. Another hour passes. My cigarette finally cinders down to the point of burning my fingers, jolting me back from an enveloping slumber. Damn, where the hell is Peter?

Peter Jacobs is the reason I'm here. He manages a race team fielding over fifteen cars competing in various series throughout Western Europe. Peter is the man who saw me racing karts at the tender and impressionable age of 8. He’s the man who goaded me into a life surrounded by screaming engines, hot tires, and surprisingly long hours. He’s the man who somehow convinced me that spending months away from home every year, living in the back of a converted cargo van, and knowing my closest friends for an average of three days, all during my most formative years was a good idea. Today, eleven years after we first met, he's the man who bought my plane ticket. The man who promised me a day in the most mind blowing automobile in the world, the McLaren F1.

I would have walked to London for a chance to do this, and it seemed as though I might end up walking anyway. I wander back inside, hoping to stave off the hunger that I'm beginning to feel. Whatever time it is here in this god-forsaken place, it's too early for the food vendors to open shop. For one of the largest airports in the world, this place sure gets deserted when you need something in the early hours. I don’t react well to excessive hunger. Doc said it’s blood sugar thing. I contemplate chewing on a plastic tree in the corner nearest the exit, when I see a woman sitting at a dark counter. I head over.
"Excuse me, I'm waiting for a friend, and I'm not sure if he knows I'm here yet. Could I use your phone?"
"Itsnotferpublicyamitefinwondownahalltodaleftbutit mitenohwehrk."
I blinked. How do you respond to that? Thank you? Bless you? Might want to have that looked at?
"No, I just need to use the phone."
"YAH CYANT YEWS EHHT!"
We're not getting anywhere. After a few more minutes of trying to show her the desperation of my plight, I resort to simply stating my name and flight number.
"Oh datz yew? Why didn ya say sumptin?"
She hands me an envelope. I'm about to ask if she expects me to call my friend with a piece of paper, when I see that it has my name on it. What the hell? I thank her, and retreat to a better lit area. I tear open the end, and a set of keys fall to the ground. Still confused, I read the enclosed letter.
"She's in the car park, level 7, near the lift. Watch for the rozzers, they like this one. Sorry I couldn't be there. Pete."
I feel stupid. I've been here waiting for what feels like a week, and there's a car for me to use, not 500 yards away. I try to count to ten, but only make it to three and a half before kicking over a trash bin in frustration. This is not the best way to start my trip.

I gather my things, and look for the shortest way to the parking garage. The rain has built to a fever pitch. I can barely see across the taxi lane outside, much less make out anything large enough to indicate the presence of a building. This has to happen now of course. A frightening thought runs through my head. What if it’s still doing this tomorrow? The F1 is already known as a skittish, unpredictable, deathtrap of a thing, and that under optimal conditions. My trip could be all for naught unless the rain lets up, which of course, would be just my luck. I dash in a direction that seems to be the most likely way to get to the parking garage. I choose what I feel is the right path and luckily after a few frantic and uneasy steps, a dark structure begins to loom before me. I attempt to circle the building hoping that a door or breezeway would avail itself to me soon, since somehow, rain in London can follow which ever path it so chooses at any given time, usually all at once. Yes, even straight up. Eventually through sheer luck, I find a nice little niche with a long awning that should give me reasonable shelter from the downpour. Exhausted, I rest against the wall for a few moments. Though I had no sense of how far I’d just walked since I couldn’t see more than 20 feet in any direction, I had the uneasy feeling that the architect in charge of this monstrosity was born with the sole purpose in life to grow up and design a building with the one goal of prolonging my suffering.
”There are no doors on this damned thing!” I exclaim, to no one but myself.
“Did none of you think of that? Is this just a game to you?”
Obviously, my hunger is getting the better of me.
“Looking for something?” The loud voice pierced the rain with startling clarity.
I spin around, wary, looking for the source of the voice that just spoke to me. My eyes, straining in the dark, scan for signs of a person. I wipe my brow with my sleeve, which seemed to spread the water more than remove it. Finally, I make out a faint outline of someone, darkly clothed and gently backlit with the tungsten glow of far away security lights. By now, it’s nearly 2 AM local time, so I’m a little cautious while approaching this small silhouette of a person.
“Hello?” I ask, hoping that this person means me no harm, since my bag had gained about twenty pounds of water in my little trek, and running away was likely to be somewhat difficult as a result.
“I asked if you were looking for something sweetie. Mind if I ask what you’re doing walking around in this soup?”

To my surprise, the voice belonged to a young woman who had come out of a doorway that I hadn’t noticed. She was tall, as tall as me anyway. I walk closer, close enough to catch the fickle scent of her perfume. Her hair was shimmering black, her eyes, pearls of the lightest green, like the soft underside of a tulip’s leaf. I don’t know how long I was standing there, lost in thoughts I probably shouldn’t have been party to before she finally spoke again, but it must have been quite a while because a sly wolfish smile began to spread on her face, and a twinkle in her eye let me know that she knew exactly what I was thinking. What I was thinking right then was slightly embarrassing and I might have preferred keeping those thoughts to myself.
“Are you ok?” Her voice was feminine, but not high pitched. There was a challenge in that voice that I should have noticed.
“Yeah, uh, sorry, I was just, uh. Yeah.” As you can see, I’ve always had a way with words.
“I’ve just been trying to find how to get inside. I’m drenched and just a little upset about it. I have a car waiting on Level 7.” I continued.
“I see, you’re looking for the parking garage. And yelling at it as well. Well, this isn’t it. This is the back of Terminal 2. That’s why there aren’t many doors. You’re not really supposed to be here.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Don’t feel bad though, it happens to a lot of people.”
“Really?” I replied just a bit sheepishly.
“No, but I thought it might make you feel better.” She suppressed a grin badly.
“Ah. Ok, well then. I suppose I’ll just head back that way.” I pointed in a rather lazily, not even sure of where exactly I was pointing. My mind was quite obviously on other things.
“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you. Airport Police might arrest you if they think you pose a security threat.”
“Oh. Well, uh, maybe I should, well, uh, yeah…..” A man can only put his foot in his mouth so many times before cramps set in.
“Not really.” Her laugh was silvery, and it instantly put me in a much better mood. “Besides, I’m not going to go out in the rain.” she teased.
“Huh?” More of my verbal genius. You’ll notice a pattern here, I’m sure.
“Follow me.” She winked and disappeared into the semi lit corridor in which she had been standing. I rushed forward to catch the door before it closed. I certainly noticed that there was no outer door handle, and my new friend was feeling frolicsome, so I didn’t bank on her opening the door if I missed my opportunity. Something about this girl got my attention. She intrigued me.

The hallway that I entered was badly lit. Maybe a third of the recessed lights were in working condition, and it gave the impression of runway lighting. Appropriate I suppose, but my main concern was elsewhere. My devilishly playful friend was nowhere in sight. I slowly began to walk forward. Every twenty feet or so, the hallway was broken by smaller side routes, all of which could easily hide a 115 pound girl if the mood struck her. I decide to play along, and so I take a good look at my surroundings. The ceiling is low, no more than a foot and a half above my head. The sound deadening tiles had long ago succumbed to the elements, and were now more different shades of rust and yellow than I knew existed. It seemed to be a cargo hallway, as the walls for as far as I could see were scraped and scuffed from many years of cardboard boxes being dragged against them. The floor, polished concrete was little better. Probably decades worth of trampling from thousands of pairs of feet had worn an almost visible groove down the middle, and it was a dark sickly color. All in all, not a pleasant place.
“Hello?” I called.
Nothing. Not a whisper. Had she left, taken one of the many doors which lined this degraded place?
“Are you there?” I asked, louder this time. I was a bit tired for games, but she didn’t seem to have noticed.
I hear a clunk, perhaps halfway down the hall. I speed my walk up. I’ll catch her. I’m confident in that. Still nothing. Checking every door would take way too long, so I head for the other end of the hallway. Perhaps if I pass her by, she’ll hop out and try to scare me. I’m not a big fan of being scared, but at least then I’ll know where she is. Another sound, this time, behind me. “Damnit” I muttered to myself. This was getting a bit creepy. I turn around, and slowly walk back the way I came. Soon, I came to a door that was slightly open, with a little shaft of light peeking out. Why didn’t I see that the first time? I reach out and push the door open, just enough to see in. Her joke earlier about the Airport Police still had me a bit jumpy.

There she was sitting quietly at a table, sipping a cup of coffee with a bemused expression on her face.
“What kept you?” The smile was infectious, and the slight anger I’d felt about being left behind to stumble around in unfamiliar territory seeped away from me.
“Well, you kinda got away in a hurry.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed. Pull up a chair. Coffee?”

Suddenly, I wasn’t quite so tired as before.