As the Bombardier Q400 began making its descent down through the clouds, I looked out the window past the engines and propellers to the dark soup-like haze below. It was made even more gray by the just-about-to-set sun.
From from the seats behind me, a man asked the guy next to him, "So are people actually going to get off in Fresno, or this is just for refeuling."
"I think some people actually do get off here," said the other.
Once we landed I pulled my carry-on backpack from the overhead and disembarked from the rear door, behind the woman and her three kids, who had the other seats in my aisle during the flight.
Her kids had expressed a wish to stay on the plane and to go on to San Diego, the final destination, where their grandmother lived.
"I wish we could too, sweetie," said the Mom.
Once across the tarmack and into the airport, it was a short walk down the sole terminal to find the rental car counters. I picked upthe keys to a Ford Focus---the same make and model as Red 's---and walked out into the dark parking lot.
The guy at the counter had given me a courtesy map of Fresno, but I decided just to go from memory to find my hotel.
No comments:
Post a Comment