San Francisco International Airport, where crying had ceased to be a reaction and turned into a process.
No long, exhausting howls of pain here; no, I sat with my dust-grey sweatshirt and two bottles of lemonade, and re-invented the whole thing.
A bit of crying; a sip of drink; and the sweatshirt clearing the eyes; a bit of crying; a sip of drink; and the sweatshirt clearing the eyes; the liquid from the lemonade sustaining the fuel for the tears, and this was the case for a good half-an-hour.
People had stopped by my seat to ask if I was alright on a couple of occasions, at which I nodded slowly or grunted, assured them there was nothing to be concerned about, and at once continued the cry-drink-dry repertoire.
No-one took their line of questioning any further after I had dismissed them in the cold, practised way I have, for talking to a distressed person is difficult and unrewarding anyway, and this is more still the case when the distressed individual shows no desire to communicate.
No-one took their line of questioning any further, that is, until I was approached by two American employees of British Airways: Pamela and Maria.
Pamela and Maria refused to leave me alone until I had told them my story - yeah, I came here and contrived to fail in the most magnificent way; yeah, I got mugged when I was blogging on a bench - but the reason I am going home early is to do with the former and not the latter.
Maria hugged me and told me it isn't the end of the world, and she is of course correct. Relationships more substantial than the one which never happened in San Francisco come to an end every hour of every day.
She and Pamela tried to get a free upgrade for my flight back to London, and put me in one of the pre take-off executive lounges, where I could console myself with food and alcohol courtesy of the airline.
Pamela and Maria were on hand to demonstrate that, even when all seems lost, friendship can be found in the darkest corners; they showed empathy for a lost and heartbroken fellow human being at the point when it was needed most; they surpassed any corporate imperative with their cuddles and good humour.
Pamela and Maria are the unlikely saviours of a man who had refused to distribute his misery amongst others despite their best efforts - if an atheist is permitted to throw off his world-view for a moment and postulate the existence of angels, then this is the time to do so.
