O'Hare takes on a completely different character on Sunday evening. Nobody's turbo race-walking through the terminal. There's room to go around people. There was room at the urinal corral when I stopped in to pee. I had time to chat with the folks at the lunch stand where I bought a Coke, and they gave me a free glass of ice since the Coke wasn't very cold. (They were fake-complimenting my nail enamel in Spanish, but I pretended they were serious and thanked them and told them how much I liked this color with my skin. Mia, it's the bottle you gave me.)
It's remarkably nice to get off the bus and know you're a block away from someplace you're welcomed and feel like you belong, and there's a key waiting so you can go in and decompress and cool down from the muggy warm trip. Dexter volunteered to be my surrogate Ichabod, and offered to sprawl on the floor so I could pet him and give him skritches. We had a group phone call with Rose's mum, which just accented that it's nice to be here.
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