Bill and I were on the road so early Sunday morning that even the Baptists weren’t up yet. With the girls’ birthstones around my neck and a jacket of many pockets, we headed for the airport and the 10:00 am flight to Portland. Or, more likely, the mythical Rabbit Hole.
Large portions of the Delta terminal are under construction. The lighting is oddly eerie. Rather like a low-budget sci-fi film. As usual, in Atlanta, the place was teeming with the sleepy, the harried, and the lost. And no hard-boiled eggs.
As a veteran people watcher, I’d say a bunch of athletes, folks excited about a cruise and, maybe, just maybe, a few others of the rabbit hole type.
