Saturday, February 01, 2020
about wearing out in the empty Providence airport
Unbothered runways press out to a deafened, mud-washed fringe of trees. Most people drive here. And away. Inside, neutral pop plays over the PA and suppresses mood. An unattended bag, a wilting plant in public space. How many rough mornings have there been at the Hampton Inn & Suites Providence Airport? Say goodbye to me and Massachusetts' shrunken head.
Labels:
airport,
boredom,
business trip,
Gilded Age,
hotel,
loneliness,
New England,
Newport,
prose,
Providence,
Rhode Island,
tourism,
travel,
waiting
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