While one of us was with nervous sickness, after the shortcut turned into a dead end, after nine months of planning, after wondering if we had enough money, after recklessly spending our money, after explanations, justifications, and a list, we arrived at the airport. We passed the checkout counter, security clearance, and walked up to our gate which soon would bear a plane that would take us to Chicago. And so there we were. Sick, we sat. Solitare, knitting, RISK, and pondering if my chunky, handmade, gray, brown, and yellow scarf, really made me look worldly or just like one of those men who drinks too much wine and talks to too few people.
I took my passport and held it proudly, for I had a passport. And I was about to use it.
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