It happened again.

When I got off the plane, I had a couple of hours until my next flight. I was in Concourse D, which I like, because it has Grindhouse Killer Burgers in it. The burgers are good; the breakfast is good; and in my experience, the service is good (a not altogether common occurrence in the Atlanta airport). When I stepped up to the counter, a friendly lady with a black ponytail greeted me and thanked me for my service (I was in uniform).

“Would you like a menu, sir?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. Thank you. I can already tell you what I want.”

I gave her my order and looked around the place while waiting for my breakfast.

Several travelers were sitting at small round black tables and staring into their laptops and smartphones. Another man was at the end of the bar, with a glass of beer in front of him. He looked at me and saluted me from his barstool. I nodded in return and thanked him.

He was wearing a black t-shirt and the sleeves had the U.S. flag on both sides and “This we’ll defend” on the back side.

A few moments later the friendly Hispanic woman returned with my sausage and egg breakfast sandwich. “Your meal has been taken care of, sir,” she said.

I looked again at the man with the beer at the end of the bar. He nodded at me again, as we both understood something.

Thank you, sir. I have a strong sense we are aligned.