By Niles Wimber
It’s a warm Friday evening, the third week in May. Memorial Day weekend. Everyone is in a rush to meet family for the holiday and nowhere is that more visible than the crowds thronging Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, Georgia. Amidst the thousands milling through Terminal South, a man walks up to one of the curbside check-in points, suitcase in hand. He smiles at the agent behind the desk as he presents his boarding pass for a flight to New York. As she tags his suitcase, they have a friendly conversation about the last Hawks game in Phillips Arena. When she’s finished, he thanks her warmly and walks on into the airport. He then promptly heads to the MARTA train station and boards a train for downtown. In the bustle, he is a ghost. Just like the other three men spread across the other terminals.