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So, I’m sitting in the bar at Tri-Cities Airport in Pasco, Washington, killing time. My flight back to Vegas is delayed. Not one to sit in silence, I strike up a conversation with a young man perched on the stool next to mine. He’s delayed too. I ask where he’s going and learn he’s on his way to Seattle to catch a connecting flight to New York: his aunt’s funeral. Then I learn that in addition to the psychological weight of saying goodbye to his aunt, he was informed that he only had minutes in ...