Nothing about our trek to Mount Rushmore worked out as expected. Our flight was deferred. We got ourselves stranded in the Minneapolis airplane terminal for four hours/italianska.
"Minneapolis airplane terminal four hours," we wrote into Google, and the web reacted by convincing us to take a prepare to the Mall of America. The passageway was shabby; the lifts were moderate and little and confounding; local people strolled around in the solidifying climate wearing short sleeves. It was not only a shopping center but rather a detailed fun place of shopping centers — shopping centers inside shopping centers inside shopping centers inside shopping centers — at the focal point of which was, some way or another, an immense event congregation. My youngsters viewed in desirous wonder as another family drifted by on a log ride. I could see their kid minds recalibrating the relative scales and potential outcomes of American experience. How enormous would one be able to thing be while as yet fitting inside another?