Syntax: A First Attempt

I should have taken a bus all the way to Florida. I don’t like airports; they smell like hospitals and have too many stores. I also think they suffer a total lack of common sense and a saturation of paranoia. I arrived too early and now I pretend I’m doing something lest I should have to watch one of the twenty television screens surrounding me. I had the opportunity to leave earlier, but I was hungry and didn’t feel like lunching peanuts and diet Coke. There was a man who looked just like Gerson at the food court. As I was eating I entertained myself judging people by what they were eating; then I realized I was eating pizza with a small drink that would be extra large in any other country. I bought a fruit salad though.
I stayed awake during the first bus trip; of course, I drank a cup of coffee at 4:00 in the morning. I’m pretty sure I was the only one awake except for the driver, who shouldn’t have a license; I blame his driving and the caffeine for the thought of a lighted bridge belonging to the Amish. Eventually everything began to look the same; it was dark so I only saw the moon and the shades of the hills and trees. Every now and then a town by the slope of a mountain would appear briefly. I thought of my grandma’s little villages under the Christmas tree; they are certainly designed after any given town of Pennsylvania. Perhaps State College has always been under our Christmas trees. Bad thought.
John Sánchez has to return to security. I still have two hours to waste. The gate next to mine is boarding to JFK. Deep breath, Denise.
The stops: a town where there was an Econo Lodge, a restaurant named Restaurant and a coffee place by the bus stop called The Stop; all sizes were 69¢. A small stop. A short stop. A stop by an office. A stop by the PENNDOT. A stop at a corner. Two students tried to get down and the driver yelled at them and told them to get back inside and sleep. At Harrisburg, two ladies stole my seat so I waited by the door and hated all who opened it letting the wind in. On the way here, I learned that the lady sitting by me had worked twelve years in PSU at the Eisenhower Chapel. She was meeting her son, who is celebrating Thanksgiving with Puerto Ricans, or so I understood; keep in mind that the lady woke me up to talk about her back lesion and her son so I’m not really sure what she said.
I’m off to buy coffee; I still have to smile upon arrival.