Luke Harris sat down with Leo on the front steps while the crowd thinned out.
They talked for maybe fifteen minutes. About the airport, about Marcus, about what Lubbock looks like in October. Luke asked Leo what patches were on his backpack. Leo explained each one – a national park patch from a family trip to Zion, a logo from a band his cousin liked, an Iron Man patch from when he was ten that he’d never taken off because it had been there so long it felt permanent.
Luke told him about a patch on his own bag. His team’s insignia. A shark with wings, which Leo admitted sounded insane, and Luke agreed it was a little insane.
At some point Luke said, “You should know – you didn’t just help me get to a gate. I was having a rough day. Rough couple of months. And something about a kid just walking up and asking if I needed help, no big deal about it, just offering – that mattered. More than the flag. More than the Broncos tickets.”
