This is my tenth trip to Japan, so I more or less have the routine down. Turn left out of Arrivals and go around the corner to the ATMs. Figure out which machine both takes American cards and has an English-language interface, since you don’t speak Japanese. Turn around, go back around the corner the other way, and down the escalator. Walk past the cobbler (why the hell is there a cobbler in the airport?) to the Keisei ticket counter. Crap–remember that you’re taking JR this time. Get to the JR ticket counter. Eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? “(Giggle) a little.” “Mishima, please.” Buy red bean paste manju and a can of coffee. (Love those coffee vending machines.) Find that funny glassed-in waiting area that must have once been a smoking lounge and settle in to wait for the train. Oh, one extra thing to do this time: check the news from Paris to see if there’s been any more news about the terrorist attacks while you were in the air. Fuck–the current bilan is 129 dead, 352 injured. Dicks.
Zipf's Law 
Yes, airport routines, just like train station routines get to be so automatic. Like most things in our lives that we just have to carry on with… and we do still stop and think of what shocked us so deeply yesterday. But for how long?
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