The Terminal

Come on.
It no work.
It should shoot,
big water up to ceiling.

Just tell me the truth.
Did you escape from an institution?

Are you a criminal?
You're living here, Viktor.
You're living at Gate 67.
I just want to know why.

Here. I show you.
My father.
Viktor, please tell me
your father isn't in that peanut can.

This is jazz.
My father, Dimitar Asenov Navorski,
see this photograph
in Hungarian newspaper 1958.

He say he look at photograph
for seven days.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...
Who are they?
Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie,
Thelonious Monk, Sonny Rollins,

Art Blakey, Max Kaminsky.
57 of them all together.
After looking at photograph
for seven days, my father has idea.

He begin to write letters to club,
Lickety Split, Snookie's Sugar Bowl.

He ask the nuns to write English.
Hundreds letters.

And then he wait.
He wait month, week, year.
My father wait 40 year.