I used to perceive life in realistic ways with past, present, and future unable to meet in the same place. I should confess that my teenage dreams did not stand the attack of maturity, but that day spent in an airport I opened my heart to beautiful strangers and freed my still existing inner child. Maybe I achieved enlightenment, maybe I got blessed or went mad, but that was the most crucial point of my life. Tired of rainy and murky Edinburgh and missing sunny Los Angeles, I was waiting for my long-expected flight in a comfy seat 42 in the airport I have never visited before. The reason for coming back home after graduation was that a few days ago I got a new job in a fancy fashion magazine for teenagers. The concept of writing for young girls to shape their perception of personal appearance seemed a little bit scary, but I could not help laughing about this. “Welcome back to the childhood you have never had,”— was my constantly repeating thought. Always focused on music, Chinese tea, and skateboarding, I was not much into contemporary glance and glamour, not sophisticated enough to meet my standards. Meanwhile, this local kind of Vogue was paying so deliriously much, that just a few months there would let me stop chasing rainbows. I would finally afford the finest vinyl DJ basics: a couple of turntables, a proper mixer, and earphones (Farrugia 43). Nuts about my future purchases, I posted an Instagram story related to the position I had got: a popular picture of a tiny cat surrounded by a friendly pack of dogs. “Going to meet the needs of the young and the desperate without being killed by them,” — I wrote on the image. Suddenly Elijah, a boy I had never seen, answered my story. “Hello, Helen, are you going to work in a bar?” he asked. “Hi, Elijah! No, I will write about girls’ psychology and fashion goals,” was my reply. “Not interesting enough, I would recommend you to publish my story of success,” noticed Elijah. “Success? In what field? What exactly are you doing?” I asked just to kill the time. “Well, I have a tea shop of my own. Then, I am a professional skater and train kids, but my main passion of life is vinyl DJing,” the boy quickly enumerated. “Holly-guacamole! I am saving money to buy relevant turntables and to start practicing from the very basics,” I nearly shouted aloud. “Maybe too straightforward but I would like to give you some tea and then to teach you,” unexpectedly proposed Elijah. “Much into this but right now I am in Edinburgh Airport going to LA,” I mirthlessly answered. “This is not a problem, I swear. Look behind,” he completely unforeseeably texted. Excessively thin, tall, and pale, with long pitch-black hair and coward turquoise eyes he looked diabolically handsome. The only unpleasant feature of his was his greedy smile of an old smoker with yellow, wonky, sharp, and dangerous teeth. He had no luggage, just a backpack with tens or even hundreds of sorts of tea. A few minutes later we were drinking some perfect Chinese tea that I had never tried before. A few sips and the location started to transform dramatically: Edinburgh Airport had lost its new seats, small shops, and coffee spots. The place was welcoming jungles with ramble lianas, graceful fir-tress, and violet lilacs I had intended to draw at