I arrived in Chicago, dazed and shuffling through the concourses along with the herd of busy energy. There's something about an airport that has always seemed so strange to me, so aseptic; I'm unable to isolate the vibe, but none the less find it unsettling. It's almost as if the process dehumanizes us. No eye contact is made, few very words words are spoken. The silence in my terminal is only broken up by the occasional chortle of an employee's radio and the clicking of heels and luggage rollers. Sitting down at my gate, I think I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. It's like a weight has been taken off of my shoulders. I feel like I finally know where I'm going. Just last night, someone asked me what prompted me to make
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