Later flight

Despite a running through the terminal like O.J. Simpson, I was late.
I remember pounding on the door and yelling at the gate attendants to stop the plane.
They didn’t. Instead, they stopped me.
“I gotta be in New York by five or I lose the client!” I shouted.
“Then you should have been here by two-thirty,” grumbled the cop as he handcuffed me.
Two hours later, they opened my holding cell.
“The plane went down over Indiana,” said a guard. “You’re the luckiest man on earth.
I called the client to explain, but luck only goes so far.
Bastards.