The flight was short, and we were soon landing in good ol’ weird assed Portland. Even if I hadn’t known the destination of our flight in advance, I could have guessed that it would be Portland by the sheer multitude of fruity looking damn-near genderless hipster kids clambering aboard.
We wandered through the airport, weary, disgruntled, and in search of sustenance. Everyone was fat, white, and loud.
We reached our connecting terminal, and were ushered without explanations into a series of confusing lines. However, as I surmised from the unwelcoming red letters, domestic connections involving luggage needed to be made 45 minutes in advance.