I don’t like airports. Never have. When I find myself wondering what hell must be like, I’m reminded of the terminals in Atlanta. Thousands of people, most of whom don’t know one another, crammed into a limited space, all in a hurry and trying desperately to get out. No one really wants to be there because it’s simply a mandatory delay, a non-place—you’re not home and neither is anyone else. Everybody’s just passing through.
