An agnostic at the airport having arrived outside Departures in darkness, she glides her case into that brightly lit space three tennis courts wide, a Pantheon high in awe as if in a cathedral her eyes rove up and around whilst the unconscious prayer she might have to say kneels in the aisle she reads the stories of those also arrived in Departure Lounge three: two captains capped and braided dragoons of cabin staff in rigs of red and navy blue a grey-suited soul in love with a laptop, the Bali mob— suitably singleted/tattooed like everyone else called up in…