Does anybody else here secretly love air travel and hotels? The wait at the gate, the flight crew’s routine, the baggage claim, the lobby, the weird hallways, the prepared room? The Brian Eno soundtrack? The ice bucket you won’t use? The RFID door lock?

The notion that you’re a guest someplace distinctly different from home— and the notion that you slit the atmosphere to get there?

The version of your life that fits in a fifty pound checked bag?

The sense that you’re lightweight and portable?

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I mean, yes, I’m broadcasting some serious white privilege here, and travel sucks for lots of people in lots of ways, air travel especially.

But I like the feeling of being Diet Rez. Rez On A Chip. No worries except what’s on the itinerary, no baggage except what I can carry.

A sleek reprieve.

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Merveilles

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