Where's Nate?

living large in the four-oh-eight. wicked large.


out for a sunday flight.

I love flying into Chicago this time of year, when the red and orange trees ring the gigantic houses out west of the city. For a moment, I think I could live here. Sunday afternoon in O'Hare is a sight to behold, no matter the time of year. It's been a while since I've been through here on the sabbath, probably since I graduated from Middlebury. Most of my quality O'Hare time has been during the week, business-travel style.

I'll never understand the decision-making process that people must go through when deciding what to take on a trip. For example, why do people bring their pillows? Whether you end up in a hotel, dorm room, or family guest room, the chances are pretty good that you can find something to rest your head on. I guess I'm thankful that I'm not completely attached to a couple of pounds of down.

Things haven't changed. Everybody between the ages of 18 and 25 is wearing their college sweatshirt, eyes red from saying goodbye to their long distance boyfriend or girlfriend, hoping that the name in all caps on their chest will signal to someone at their destination that they need a ride back to campus. That used to be me. And in some ways, it still is.


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