Sunday, August 23

Our plane descends into Denver International Airport and an obscuring haze drifted in from Washington’s burning forests. We step into the terminal and everything is momentarily new, unfamiliar. Outside, despite the smoke, the air is beautiful, cool and dry, easy to breath in. We aren’t on the bus 5 minutes before I catch the tang of dank, weapons-grade cannabis drifting out of an open pocket or bag.