Early this morning I loaded my three bags in the back of my wife's car, and I was off. We first dropped my son off at the high school, then my wife dropped me off at the airport, curbside. I first checked in at Delta's International Ticketing Area, where I joined a long snaking line with fifty or so other travelers. There were families with luggage carts loaded with suitcases and taped-up crates, and many children standing sleepy-eyed with parents or grandparents. One little girl in particular struck me, standing there with a pink fleece blanket draped over her shoulders. There were a group of Russian speakers in the line ahead of me, all wearing fur coats, and I couldn't help but try to eavesdrop on their conversation.
My journey to Kyiv required stopovers in Atlanta and Vienna. I waited at my gate and then boarded a Boeing 737 to Atlanta. Amazingly, I am ninety percent sure that a woman sitting two rows ahead of me was the same woman who appeared before me on a criminal matter two days ago. I kept my head low, and I am certain that she did not recognize me.
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