Airportman
This is the underground tunnel between the parking garage and the terminal at Dulles International Airport in Northern Virginia.
This tunnel has always seemed to me to be a guidepost alerting the traveler they are entering into the other-world of modern air travel.
The antiseptic floors and walls, the weird light devoid of any sense of the outside, the disembodied voice cooing, "Warning: the moving walkway is ending," the harried business people rushing to Chicago or Tokyo or somewhere . . . all of these things create a certain atmosphere that lets me know I have entered the zone of stowed tray tables and tiny packets of pretzels and sesame sticks.
I used to love flying. Now not so much.
Airportman
This is the underground tunnel between the parking garage and the terminal at Dulles International Airport in Northern Virginia.
This tunnel has always seemed to me to be a guidepost alerting the traveler they are entering into the other-world of modern air travel.
The antiseptic floors and walls, the weird light devoid of any sense of the outside, the disembodied voice cooing, "Warning: the moving walkway is ending," the harried business people rushing to Chicago or Tokyo or somewhere . . . all of these things create a certain atmosphere that lets me know I have entered the zone of stowed tray tables and tiny packets of pretzels and sesame sticks.
I used to love flying. Now not so much.