The Smells of the Cincinnati Airport

Haven't done this early-morning-commute-by-air thing in quite a while.

This is the "with rain" version.

Memories of the "with snow" version coming into Lansing the day after a blizzard.

Memories of the "with in the middle of reading a Harry Potter hardcover on the shuttle from terminal to terminal (Dallas?) in a wicked storm" version.

Little bits and pieces that have gotten so bitten and pieced like sugar does in coffee.

I'm not platinum. I'm not gold.

Garlic.

Roaster chicken.
Fresh. The fresh and the green.
Plastic against a heating element.
The guy at the Sunglasses Hut.

I'm heading to San Francisco and I'm surrounded by people heading to San Francisco.

It's Boots Season.

It's You See It Everywhere Season.

Who wouldn't like a little more time? That's no way to separate.

Memories of borders and all the things I want to get done or get going in the next six months.

Visions of the get-got, tasting the get-gotten and how good that'll be.

One, two, three.

Let's do this thing, k?