Gate C. Flight 97 to Vegas. Bored. Degenerately prepared airport tacos on your breath. Just finished John Hughes profile in Vanity Fair. Motherfucker wrote Sixteen Candles over one weekend. You feel vaguely inspired to start writing something rapidly yourself, but instead you Facebook stalk your ex and your ex's boyfriend and your ex's boyfriend's grotesque midwestern relatives who live in sad little suffocating boxes yet look happier than you. But there is hope in your heart. For you relish the fact that you can connect to the internet in an airport! There must be something redemptive about technological advancement. It's the only thing that does advance. But you realize your excitement over airport wifi also means you're getting old and there will soon be / already is a generation of fresher-brained digital natives eager to gently and seamlessly annihilate you forever -- a generation to whom the idea of an offline airport terminal is something quaint and nearly sepia toned. Or not sepia toned... for you don't even know through what cinematic filters these affable young beasts imagine your past. Does all of this bother you? Are you afraid of losing your cultural leverage? Of becoming irrelevant? Or do you not give a shit and just want to get on this plane, pop a Xanax, arrive in Vegas, get heated, have idiotic unprotected sex with someone damaged and beautiful but get away with it, come home, get married, have kids, and die?