![]() ![]() Every time I spin around to give it a good yank I can feel my backpack opening. My bag is not a bag any more, it’s a child throwing a tantrum. I dig my phone out of my jacket, a giant red parka. If I did drop something and it’s likely I did, there’s no way I could find it. Two days ago, the city got more than two feet, and most of it is still on the sidewalks. ![]() If Trump wins or, at the very least, doesn’t drop out, I’m going to need every scrap of clothing in this bag. And on February 23, I’ll be in Nevada, where it is even warmer. But on February 20, I’ll be in South Carolina, where it is warm. On February 9, the New Hampshire primary will also be cold. ![]() On February 1, the Iowa Caucus will be cold. I also have to pack for multiple climates. I’m breaking my carry-on rule because I have to pack for at least a month, maybe longer. I’d like to leave it on the side of the road like a rotting couch. ![]() I’m not Sisyphus and this isn’t purgatory.ĭamn this damn bag. I don’t have the time to check a bag, because I don’t have the time to watch a banged-up black belt spin in a circle from now until eternity. The wheels weren’t made for snow and it’s too goddamn big. My suitcase is the size of a refrigerator and it is fighting me down this godforsaken sidestreet in Queens. We pick the story up in NY, as our intrepid reporter tries to get to Iowa…. ![]()
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