Baggage claim!

I was slouching by the baggage claim, hands buried in my sleeves. It was two A.M., the area full of the echoing sounds of the floor polisher and my impatient sighs.
I was hoping to camp out near my terminal for the next flight out but all I could really do at this time of morning was stare at the nearly empty conveyer belt, hoping against hope that I would find a fuzzy pink backback with zebra print straps.
I was close to the “mouth” of the wall that spit out the luggage and every time the flaps opened I would creep closer, sometimes lunging at the bag. But everything was a briefcase or a luxury set.
Next to me appeared a flamboyant man dressed in a coat of dollar bills.
“Which one is your’s?” he asked.
“They all look the same to me,” I huffed. “I can’t imagine that. A life like that.”
“Me either,” and he snatched the next bag that came out. His attire morphed into a business suit and he looked quite pleased with himself. “Have a pleasant evening!”
I grumbled and kept picking up suitcases and just before my legs gave out I found it, well worn and loved, but mine, all mine: pink, fuzzy, zebra stripes.
And just like that, my life began.

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