Walking across the concourse I was concerned about what I could see. Everywhere there were small people carry what where quite clearly concealed machine guns.
It was like something from 1920’s Chicago.
Everywhere I looked there were more of them, all casually walking along, police ignoring them, swinging their cases of death.
Of course it could have been that they were all kids off to violin practice, but that would sound far less dramatic.
It’s still a little odd, the sheer number of them.