July 5, 2016:
I'm thinking of airport waiting areas. Gates, crowds, people in rows of black seats, people milling, people unsure where to be.
A large open space, very high ceiling like an atrium, sunny, with construction behind a screening wall. Where was that? Memory scan: Tampa. A long, long concourse, darkish, very crowded, gates numbered all the way through the 90s. Where was that? Denver. My home base, claustrophobic, magazine stands and banks of odd-angled chairs crowding narrow aisles. Where is that? San Jose.
I'm uncharacteristicly late. I jog 3/4 mile dragging rollerbag in 90 degree sun, reach the gate exactly on time for boarding, to find they've changed gates, the new one is 1/4 mile through crowds and winding halls, and I reach it in time to be the final passenger allowed on, except the airline app with my electronic boarding pass has chosen that moment to force me to re-login and I can't remember the password. To punish me the gate crew insist on checking my bag. What else can go wrong?