I tell Peggy I’m drinking the hell out of pu’erh these days. It connects me to the earth. And Tang Dynasty sages. I imagine living as a hermit 1000 years ago in some remote cave somewhere, uninhibited by tech workers, Virtual Reality sycophants, people on the bulletproof coffee bandwagon, or any of the usual bullshit in Silicon Valley.

The public portion of the airport terminal was just one large room. I didn’t even see a clock anywhere. A connected row of faded plastic orange chairs, circa Taco Bell 1975, sat in front of one window, overlooking the small runway.