When I wandered back from the loo, he was folding himself into the center seat. I was bummed because I was hoping it would stay empty, of course. The guy was a thin, sandy haired guy in a pilot’s uniform, stripes on his shoulders and we were delayed. A lot. The kid in the window seat, a nice looking hipster with a newer digital camera, snapped pictures out the window while we sat on the runway. As we rolled back to the terminal and again, back out on the runway, we started to talk.
Chicago City Center Hotel: You Are Rather Mediocre
I don’t stay in a lot of hotels – the universe is generous to me and often finds a way to insinuate me into the homes of locals. I declined that offer this time because I had the idea that sprawling solo in a swank downtown hotel would be a fun and unusual diversion. I …