(Written Saturday afternoon)
Three hours this time. Stupid Delta.
I'm sitting in the BBC bar at the Cincinnati airport, having a yummy Dark Star Porter (248). It's yummy.
I can still really feel Southern Indiana trying to repel me. I bet the plane used extra fuel as it carried me Eastward. I bet the pilot was concerned.
I am a salmon being forced to swim upstream, but I have no spawning to anticipate.
Back to the grind I go. No choice, really.
At least no choice that I'm willing to make. No chance that I'm willing to take.
Hey, that rhymed!
My Pulitzer awaits.
Update: it ended up being a four-hour layover because of the stupid weather on the East coast.
Update Again: My cats were glad to see me. I guess that's something.