I had originally planned to fly out late that Sunday, catching a ten-something Red Eye back to Vegas. But my date with Kevin ended around two and Kate and company were still in Naperville recovering from the Joan Jett concert.
My bags limited the fun to be had wandering aimlessly, so I hopped the Red Line toward the loop. A grifter entered my car and, holding a fake rap sheet announced that he was a convicted felon, recently released and in need of a 7-day CTA pass, some food, and a job.
As it should happen, I heard this same speech from this same grifter on this same train when I had first arrived in Chicago. I smiled, knowing the trip had come full circle.
I got to Midway seven hours early and threw myself at the mercy of the ticket agent to stick me on an earlier flight. In her infinite kindness, she located a flight leaving sooner than later, and all she asked of me was that I pay a gratuitous “upgrade fee”.
I paid, boarded, flew, landed at six, early enough to capture the 110Â° fury of the sun. It was good to be home.