Behind the curve on Syria

Year in, year out, I am always unprepared for that first blast of Washington summer air, the one that hits like a physical force the moment between leaving the airplane and entering the transport bus at Dulles Airport in mid-July. Those few, non-air-conditioned seconds always serve to remind me that I don’t need the sweater that seemed so necessary in northern Europe, that I’ve entered a new time zone, that it’s time to re-adapt to the customs and habits of my home town.

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