That one swipe wiped out what was left of my personal emergency savings, leaving six dollars and fourteen cents in the main account I used for my engineering consulting work.

The agent clipped three thermal boarding passes together and pushed them across the counter with my card.

“Gate B22,” he said, pointing to the security archway at the end of the hall.

“Boarding starts in forty-five minutes.”

I hitched up my shoulder strap, grabbed my bag, and went straight through the security checkpoint without a glance at the quiet shops along the wall.

Gate B22 sat at the far bend of the concourse, lit by pale fluorescent tubes that buzzed against the acoustic ceiling tiles.