Well, I left New York a week ago and made it all the way to Chicago before the trouble started. “Low ceilings” the American Airlines rep said when Myla and I asked about our first cancelled flight.
We hunkered down, got ourselves put on standby for the next flight, and hoped. Chicago’s airport isn’t a fun place to hang out. There aren’t many places to sit comfortably for long periods–we could only drag our meals out a Chili’s for so long before the waitress gave us pointed stares to tell us others were waiting for our seats.
When our second flight was cancelled, we started to worry we wouldn’t make it out at all, but there was one last flight at 9:30 PM. We knew if we didn’t get on that flight that we’d have to sleep in the airport. But since we’d been up since O-dark-thirty that morning anyway, we didn’t last. Just before I nodded off, I looked across at Myla, and this is what I saw.
Well…I fell asleep. Imagine my surprise when I got home and saw this picture of myself. The question is, what the hell was I dreaming about?