I stepped off the packed plane at Detroit Metropolitan Airport shortly after midnight on Monday, a victim of delays in Newark precipitated by the holiday rush. I was tired. Traveling is always a hassle, doubly so when the entirety of New York City’s not-from-here population is trying to vacate the region in the span of just a few days.
Eager to crawl into a bed, I immediately called my dad, who’d been orbiting the airport for some time awaiting my arrival. Something strange and unexpected happened: his voice was not the usual muffled, analog-to-digital-to-analog facsimile that’s expected of a traditional phone call. It was crystal clear. At risk of sounding cliché, it was as if he was standing right next to me. I could easily make out...
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