“The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.”
Hamlet in Shakespeare’s Hamlet V.i.166
Airport Memories
For some reason, Phoenix Sky Harbor and Las Vegas, almost like I can confuse them. Not really, no slot machines in Phoenix, but almost. Digging deeper, there was scene in the novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany, reminded me of waiting for my sister outside the old Southwest terminal in Phoenix. Hot summer’s day, she was transiting from Big Bend to SFO. Didn’t connect then, but I loitered outside the security gates for an hour or two, lurking, furtively trying to figure out what flight number connected through to Northern Cal.
We didn’t have cell phones.
I didn’t fly through the airport much, not when I was I school, too broke, too distant. Southwest was also limited, no direct flight to Dallas Love Field.
Reminded me of the old SWA commuter trick, hop off the plane in Albuquerque, and walk onto the next Dallas Love flight, while not matching the federally mandated 2 hour window, it could be done. I’d let my luggage catch up with me later. Worked a few times, the heady fin de siecle, as decades ended and grunge arose.
Airport Memories
One reason I moved to AZ was possibly year-round riding weather. But drivers and dawning judgement shifted. The statistic, not fact-checked, was the average lifespan of a rider was six months. Yeah, why mine didn’t last with me. Eventually, I became a full time pedestrian, the glory of the walking life.
Been more than 20 years since I’ve been anywhere just on foot — besides the airport.
So much isn’t the same.
