The last flight of the day has left Bradley International. The airport is a virtual ghost town. A handful of TSA agents stand near the screening area.
8:30 pm seems too early for everything to be shut tight. It makes Connecticut seem tiny and provincial.
My parents are coming in. They have been routed the strangest way, West Palm Beach to Cleveland, a four hour layover, then Bradley.
That’s not a routing, it’s torture!
The flight is late. The airport will be even lonlier when they get here.