The Density of Honey
A small story about the density of honey at airports. There I was standing in front of a stainless steel table, belongings strewn about, a sweater spilling out of my half-unzipped duffel bag. A stranger was rummaging through my stuff. I had no shoes on. I had arrived three hours early — probably too early — mostly out of anxiety surrounding the unpredictability of moments like this. Then the airport security agent pulled a small jar of honey from my bag, as if it were an emerald excavated from an ancient tomb in some long-forgotten jungle. ...