Colorado - Part 12

At DEN, the young man behind me looks like he has pink eye, but it is Colorado, after all. An old man in front of me smells of bergamot, but that doesn't make him an earl. Or even named Earl.

The giant woman from Hawai'i who has talked so long with the car rental agent gets a patdown because evidently it is unclear just what she may have concealed under that mu'umu'u.

Lefty's Mile High Bar & Grill is not what you think, being at an airport, even though it is Denver, after all. The cart next door labeled "Climax Jerky" seems unabashedly dubious though. Decent product, no sodium nitrate, and it's only double retail price. There are free samples, so now I'm eating dog treats from a metal tin with plastic tweezers at a mile-high meringue pie airport (if you've seen the architecture, you will know what I mean.)

I hit the john and find myself in 'line' behind one guy for at least four open urinals. I figure he's there to watch, but he finally picks one, cutting me off in my own path.