JOSH DELGADO
In a hurry, always. He would like you gone before his coffee goes cold, unless you have brought watches, in which case he has all morning.
Josh Delgado has somewhere to be, and it is not this desk. He works the arrivals hall at JFK with a coffee in one hand and one eye on his own watch, and the line moves because he moves it. Most people get a glance, a nod, and the exit. He is not lazy. He is efficient, and efficient people resent anything that is not.
What slows him down is a watch. He knows the weight of a real one, the sound of a real clasp, and roughly what one goes for on the mall floor in Dubai, and a bag with a few of those in it turns a thirty-second stop into the rest of his morning. He will tell you as much. "You look like you're about to make my morning complicated." He is not asking a question.
New York is a normal line, no stricter than London or Tokyo, and Delgado does not go looking for trouble. He goes looking for the coffee cart. Give him no reason to put the cup down and you are through before it is cold.