I swear I’m not dead. I just had to do some traveling this week. I spent two more wonderful days in lovely Wallingford, Connecticut. But I’m happy to say that by the time this post is publish, I’ll be at 29,000 feet or something, winging my way home after a brief stopover in Charlotte, North Carolina. Then again, can you really say you’ve been in and/or to a place if you’ve only spent a few hours in their airport?
Now that I really consider it, I think maybe not. I mean, I didn’t even have any pulled pork or sweet tea while I was here. Oh sure, I thought about hiking all over the terminal in search of some, but I hardly think the citizens of Charlotte would want me to judge their prowess at barbecuing pork butt by airport terminal kiosk purveyor.
Clearly, that wouldn’t be right. So, instead, I picked up a little snack that I figured I could use to judge airports against each other (rather than cities): a non-Starbucks iced americano and a theoretically “fresh” brownie.
See?
gh
Yeah, okay, so the lightening isn’t great. I do words, people, not pictures.
And for the record, Charlotte’s brownies aren’t all that great either.
I should have gotten some pulled pork.
Be home soon. We’ll chat more tomorrow.
Pud’n
PS: I’ve spent serious time wandering through/loitering in various airports over the course of the last couple of weeks, and I want to know: a thousand years from now, what will future generations think we did in these huge structures full of stores and doorways?
Puddintopia 