The terminal at night is hard angle and echoed sound, cold plastic chairs and gaping monitors, chemical carpet smell and bone-deep exhaustion.
All a Part of the Journey [airport]
Nine vehicles—six Land Rovers, two Sprinters, and my Prius—are parked in the small airport lot, waiting for the first flight of the day. They wait for tourists. I wait for my mother. Express (via New York, Dakar, and Johannesburg) from Chicago.
Windows [airport]
Flying with a baby, a squirmy, tired, verbal baby such as Claire, turns a reporter’s eye – not to mention the gaze of all her fellow travelers – upon herself.
