High listeners, this is Ashley Flowers, and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story about a terrible stop along a winter road.

So gather around and listen close.

A bitter cold blasted its way through the northeast United States.

The snow, already two inches thick, became iced over and glazed to a slick surface.

A small town that typically conveyed a sense of light-hardiness and joy was

frozen in a moment of hollow desperation.

And all around, the streets were empty as dusk settled in.

This was the exact moment that Leonard Fipps entered Mason, New Hampshire,

driving his white Chrysler LeBaron on his way to the Boston Airport.

The GPS attached to his dashboard was guiding himself on Old County Road,

a one-lane vacant backstretch of road that went on for miles.

As he drove past an abandoned car encased in a snowbank,

his thoughts drifted to the check-in process at Logan Airport.

Packed in a line, rushing to take off his belt and emptying his pockets,

there was a comfortable amount of time to get settled in his gate,

but the idea of being corralled like cattle was something he would never get used to.

One shoe bomber was all it took to force every passenger to take off their shoes

for digital inspection. Two sweaty damp lines of well-trodded carpet

lay between him and the X-ray machine.

And he cringed at the thought of shuffling along the same path,

but he was looking forward to his well-earned vacation in the tropics.

...