Waiting Games.

I somehow rise dark and early at 4:29 am, one minute before my alarm
goes off. I try not to think about the concept of cheating myself out of one more minute of sleep. I turn and pull up my comforter instead, closing my eyes.
The air is cool but still.

After a steely-speeding ride on the SuperShuttle, I check one bag for
fifteen bucks and wait for my rebooked flight, which is delayed (and
the only one available) to the city of brotherly love.
I wait at the gate after finding a seat. It has somehow gotten
progressively colder inside the airport as the morning wears on.
Bored, but mainly tired out of my mind, I spot a guy who looks a
little like Mark Wahlberg. He dons a green duffel bag and one of
those plaid wool jackets. Ugh. No guy should ever wear wool plaid
jackets. They repel me. And so do sweatpants with tapered legs. Any
pants with tapered legs; the damage is done. This means you, guy sitting across the way with the 24 hour fitness tee shirt on.
It was a mess - the flight was delayed two hours, overbooked, and they were making each passenger with a carry-on bag place their bag in the carry-on box display to be certain that it met airline space requirements. The line moved slower still; we stopped on the portable walkway from the gate to the plane - someone had gotten sick while boarding and the crew was now cleaning it up. I spotted Wanda Sykes on our flight - first class, of course.

I think I still have the flu.