March 2004.
GREENSBORO, NORTH CAROLINA
It never fails; when traveling at an airport, you will always find yourself stuck behind someone who is standing on the moving walkways. And so, here I was, backpack slung over my shoulder after a five-hour flight to North Carolina. Everything I brought was able to fit in the overhead bin, and now stuck behind a family with far too many bags just standing there, congesting the walkway. As my agitation began to rise, I calmed myself. I was in no hurry. None at all.
Maneuvering through the airport was a different challenge. After passing families reuniting, the businessmen and women running here and there as if perpetually late for whatever is next, I made it to the gaggle of chauffeurs all patiently holding signs to find their hired client. As I pas
