Air travel is an odd experience.  The process itself is nothing more then glorified cattle herding, an exercise in simultaneous frustration and patience. Yet it mixes kindly with a certain element: excitement. It is as though suffering through slightly racist and sub-par airplane food and crushing boredom will bear fruits of entertainment and thousand birthday parties over.  With bated breath and knotted stomachs we conform ourselves to sinfully unnatural sleeping positions in the vain effort to provoke the Santa Claus of travel into conceding the gift of arrival and not mind rotting lump of coal  named delays.  The traveler brings every means of distraction they are capable of sneaking past the hallowed guardians of the skies, the TSA. A book, a music player and game boy are used to kill hours as one pays the piper of travel with time. Yet the payment is made in advance.  One must do the time in hopes of fantastic crimes that exist on the fringe of our imginations.