I’m standing around at gate B18 in the familiar Chicago Midway Airport – writing to you on my phone. As we arrived, they informed us that we would be switching planes. Okey-doke. The plane they’ve switched us to has not quite arrived. My cohorts are scarfing potbellies and offering me the extra that they bought as a lark. I may accept if they keep it for a while.
I am enjoying an amber ale and salt and vinegar chips. Delightful!
