On the way home
She extended  and locked the handle of her suit case in place shortly after taking it off the luggage carousel in the lower level of the domestic flights terminal. The lower floor was crowded with travelers waiting for luggage, meeting friends or love ones who had come to pick them up. Kathleen’s flight had arrived from San Francisco thirty minutes late because of early morning fog in the bay caused a slow down in take off for safety reasons.

While her suitcase’s hidden wheels rolled as she pulled it behind her with one hand, she tried to scroll through her contact list on her iPhone with the other hand. It was a little difficult, but she had learned to so with her thumb. Once the name appeared on the screen, she stopped long enough in the middle of the walkway that lead out of the terminal and to the line of waiting taxis, and pressed the call button. Once the number began to dial she lifted the phone to her ear and then continued toward the taxi stand.

“Hey, its me, Kathleen. I’m back in Chicago, and on my way out of O’Hare. I though you might want to go out tonight for drinks or something. Anyway, give me a call.”