I showed up at LaGuardia airport baked and had to explain to the surly airline employee that I did, indeed, have a ticket that was taking me to Chicago that day.  The ticket was on Independence Air, which was due to go out of business in two days. 

When I sat at gate A4 eating my sandwich and balancing a cup of coffee between my legs, the cold light pouring through the huge glass windows and the blue Independent Air signage made me realize that I was sitting in a "Blue Gate," one of my personal obsessions.  Granted, I was high, but I wondered what the significance of this was.  It felt pretty important.

 The flights were delayed, and I passed through Washington Dulles and O'Hare airport as in a dream.  When the plane landed in Chicago, the pilot said, "We look forward to seeing you--" and then corrected himself, remembering the bankrupcy--

"Well, I guess we won't be seeing you again."

I finally lugged my suitcases up into Audrey's tiny apartment on Huron.  I was blown away by how cozy and warm it was.  There was a white shag rug on the living room floor and a Christmas tree and the old familiar sofa and bookcase. 

 Mr. Thermometer was there, and Audrey and Mr. Thermometer's brother joined us for red beans and rice.  We got nice and high.