Dear Detroit,

Dear Detroit,

I have a bone to pick with you. On four separate occasions I have raced through your airport, breathless and tachycardic as I try to make up for time lost in the usual amalgam of airline snafus. Each time I have been forced to traverse the tunnel between the A and B gates, a scene stolen from the 1971 version of the Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Each time it is a bewildering experience during which I seriously expect to be accosted by Mr. Slugworth in between the moving sidewalks.

Why, oh why, did you ever think that frazzled air travelers would enjoy a trip through this psychedelic tunnel, reverberating with the soundtrack of a sinister clown performance? Please, please, please dismantle the tunnel art installation or else provide the option of fizzy lifting drinks in lieu of connecting flights.




4 responses to “Dear Detroit,

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