Pandemic, time, and not letting moments go

The Lyft driver pulled up to the curb at Sarasota-Bradenton International Airport early in the afternoon on a late September day. I’d only been standing there for a couple of minutes, and my shirt already clung to me in the Florida heat. I threw my bags in ahead of me, and piled into the backseat, where I was hit by an arctic blast of air conditioning.

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