I left over five dollars in nickels on the table. Damn.

Why do I always overpack? It's not fun when I'm dragging the bags through the airports. Especially not one like the Las Vegas airport. No one told me it was the little brother of the Denver (yucch) airport. Navigational hell, especially when you're trying to catch a plane that you feel certain you're going to miss. (Yes, I'm a bit paranoid.)

Huffing and puffing, with shooting pains in my arms and back, I drag myself up to the ticket counter. They aren't even close to boarding yet. Okay, good. I can get some coffee. Right. I don't want to pay an exhorbitant amout for a tiny cup of java, so I think about heading back down the terminal and finding a Starbuck's or something.

I turn around, and literally run into Mike. Uhhh....okay. I'm going to get coffee.

Then some guy in tiny sunglasses and a sweatband/headband looking thing passes right in front of me. He seems to be of the same mind as I am, wondering if there is any decent coffee in this place. (Paraphrasing him.)

Yep, I had to go call Blakey, Debs, and Lilo back in Los Angeles and tell them: "Omigawd! John and the whole band are on the same flight as I am!"

And to think I used to daydream about things like this back in high school...