Thoughts and things I hope I misheard correctly

Airport:
Release the Russians
Final boarding call for Husky and Wilcox

Railway reservation counter:
Little red-haired man
I'm waiting in line to book my ticket to Bangalore, it's hot and taking forever. There's a little reddish-orange haired man (people here colour their hair with henna to cover up grey hair) up in the front of the line. I fixate...
he stands up there,
My only reference point for motion in the queue,
the little red-haired man.
He stands, doesn't budge (why won't you move, little red-haired man?)
Slowlycrawls forward, shocking orange flashing mockingly in my eyes,
Little, red-haired, man.
He reaches the counter, head bobs up and down, questioning questing tasting testing.
I knew that my salvation lay in his finishing his job.
Only then would this line quench itself.
He finally finishes. I lose sight of him for a moment, the little red-haired man, when people lose their patience at an oldish woman who insists on cutting the line.
I find him again.
He leaves, comes back, leaves.
I hate him, I respect him,
the little...tiny, little...red-haired man.