There is something to be said about a nervous waiter. Though what that might be eludes me at the present moment, as he – a young man, above 6ft, with a slight stutter in his step and exhaustion in his eyes – towers over my shoulder. In his mind, I am sure
Charleston International Airport – that's where I sit. I have always thought it was a beautiful place, and, to be frank, a quiet place – even if the unofficial acronym has always rubbed me the wrong way: CIA. Even so, the palm trees and the consistent lack of honking despite
I have a letter in the works that I am proud of. But as it stands, we arrived at Charleston International Airport at 12:30pm. It is now 1:16am and we are in a Hampton Inn in New Jersey. The future has always been uncertain for me. And I
The sun is beginning to set, though this far north... that doesn't mean much. I have at least 4 hours of light remaining, and as such, I am going to push onwards to the Arctic, so long as I can make out the next few inches of road
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