Delayed in Harrisburg.

There are about 20 people here. In the entire airport. It's 7:44pm and the one restaurant in the terminal is closed. There is a Starbucks, but it isn't open either. I'm not a coffee drinker anyway. ...or tea. ...or hot chocolate. ...or water. ok, well, I do like water. I wish they were open.

People randomly strolling like cattle in a field of hay. ...or whatever they eat. A fat guy in headphones is eating a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and listening to something on his headphones. I'm certain it is Dr. Phil's guide to fitness. Must've missed the part about marrying up sugary peanut butter with milk chocolate.

That just makes me feel better about myself.

When and where is a handlebar mustache appropriate? To each his own, I guess. ...or her own.

Security is the Harrisburg police. A late twenties looking woman cop. Yes, that is sexy. I don't care what you say. The TSA have packed up and left for the evening. But at least we have Harrisburg's finest...so to speak.

Can't they put outlets closer to the seats? I have to sit on the floor. But I can't give up my power outlet. The scarcity of outlets at airports breeds a unique competitive tension among laptop users. But tonight is my night...I'm the power king. Nobody can take the mountain from me. See what I mean?

What kind of atmosphere are they trying to create here? Outside...a stunning view of Three Mile Island, site of the most serious US commercial nuclear power plant accident of all time. I was almost 4 yrs old when that happened. Anyway...besides that, there are military aircraft...very cool. Meanwhile, a medley of Cyndi Lauper, Nick Lachey and disco music plays in the background.

The gate host, as I'll call him, just announced on the PA that we shouldn't go very far because the plane will be here at 10:45pm. Two thoughts come to mind. That is an hour and 45 min from now. Probably a little premature on the announcement. Secondly...where am I going to go?

Maybe I'll go put a dollar in the massage chairs and get my three minutes of pampering. ...or maybe I'll slip it a fiver and see where that gets me.