The cabin pressure made my head cold worse. Something about the cruising altitude had congealed the mucus, which had been running fairly freely until then, so deep into my sinus cavities I wondered how big they actually were. My face hurt, and most surprising of all, my top right row of teeth was throbbing. Numb.
By the time I landed in Missouri, sound was muted. My ears had turned the volume all the way down – perfect for hearing yourself think. This is how I experienced Kansas City, the heart of America, by feeling my own pulse in my ears. With a resting beat in the low 30s, the minutes in KC slow-cooked me like the pulled pork I am. That is, I hammed it up.
I marinated in the words and sentences of books and writers, the laughter of kismet friends and professional comedians, the slightly sweet honey vanilla latte and punchy espresso martini, the refreshing Rad AF Hazy IPA and warm-baked brownie cookie, the sound of jazz and Super Bowl screams. I soaked up comfort where I could find it, which in this prairie land, can find you flat – emotionally leveled – and somehow, keeps rolling you along.
Inspired Scribble 