“Do you cry much?” said the woman.

It was an odd question because it was real. Empathy isn’t often found in airport bars or airports themselves for that matter. That day, like every other day, swarms of busy and important people filled Los Angeles International Airport. They bustled about with equal parts purpose and indifference.

Upstairs at the World Pub, Katy and Carolyn had been sitting next to each other at the bar for about half an hour. An announcement over the public address informing foreign travelers they were not required to give money to panhandlers had sparked a conversation between them that was, up to this point, meaningless.

Carolyn looked up from her New York Times and replied, “I’m sorry?”

“Do you cry much?” said Katy as she traced reflections on the bar with her finger.

“Only to my therapist.”

“About what?”

Swirling the straw in her gin and tonic, Carolyn looked up to the place where she kept her thoughts. Her other hand held her cheek and twirled a mahogany curl around a finger. She paused a moment then said, “My job. My ex-husband. All the little failures in life that pile up to make me miserable. What do you cry about?”

Katy looked into her beer while she pondered an answer.

“I cry about people I’ve never met. I cry for their pain. I cry because I know there is more pain to come for them.”

Carolyn glanced at her Blackberry and pulled her drink a little closer.

“I don’t cry for myself, and I don’t know why. I wish I did. I think I’d be happier if I did.” said Katy.

“Maybe.” said Carolyn. She wasn’t sure whether to feel ashamed or sympathetic. In a way, she felt both.

The two women quietly sat with each other for a few minutes until a British lady announced over the public address system that Carolyn’s flight to Soul was boarding.

“That’s me.” Carolyn said and quickly added, “Let me get this.” and tossed a twenty on the bar.

Katy smiled and said, “Thanks.”

Carolyn stood up, collected her bag and briefcase, checked her hair, smiled to Katy and said, “Nice talking to you.” Then she walked away.

Katy sat for a while and finished her beer. When the British lady announced her flight to Newark, she picked up her bag, paid her tab, and tipped the bartender with the Carolyn’s twenty.