Time, which usually went by fairly slowly when traveling, seemed to tick by faster and faster each second. In comparison to the car, which rolled about a mile an hour, and a mile is what separated me from the sliding doors to Terminal B. The flight lo LAX had started boarding at 7:10, and it wasn’t until 7:22 that I made it through security. I avoid running in airports at all costs, mostly because: A. I hate running and B. My t-shirts tend to ride up on my stomach, which I also hate. In what might have been the fastest dash of my life, and the loudest SHIIIIT I have ever dared to exclaim in public, I made it to B26 at 7:30, gate promptly closing behind me.
That was me a few days ago, picking up the last piece of the puzzle in Los Angeles. My visa is now nestled in the front pocket of my backpack, next to some cinnamon bubble gum and a few cables. My one (if you can believe it) suitcase is in the trunk, heading to Denver International Airport.