Zophar Shankelstein slumped into the cracked vinyl seat of Gate 17B at O’Hare International Airport, his head throbbing like a giant squid crushing the moon, he was in the middle of a hangover-fueled misadventure. The fake neon glow of a pretzel stand flickered in his peripheral vision, mocking and challenging his queasy stomach. It was April 10, 2025, and Zophar was halfway through the worst layover of his life—a seven-hour stopover that felt like a cruel cosmic prank.... Listen for the rest of the story
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