The building, bright and airy, invokes images of an early century train terminal during wartime. A stark yellow and gray skeleton girds the vast space, marked by streamlined-chrome accents. The roof, a neo-Victorian web of arched supports, reveals glass-topped eyes mirroring the smoky domed lenses that guard strategic locations. A hyper-cool atmosphere, not gusty, but sharp, reminds you to quicken your pace. No time to rest. Like Mike Davis' critical dissection of Los Angeles, one finds Reagan National to be a slightly dystopian corporate enclave. Reagan hardly bristles with menace, but you have little reason to tarry unless you're walking or shopping or, preferably, both.

After nine, the stores close and the crowds begin to disperse. Anticipating the hours I'd spend listening to Branson, Missouri-style Musak, I settle into a routine of struggle to catch a few moments of sleep before stretching, dropping my tired feet to the floor, and searching for some unexpected nook or cranny. In contemporary public life, secret spaces are almost always illegal. Before long, however, I spy real potential: an internet kiosk on the second floor near a business service center. Naturally, full access to email, web surfing, and other online diversions await a credit card holder, but some web pages, like MSNBC and Amazon.com are free. I can slip the surly bonds of boredom 'til dawn with this thing! The only hitch is that I have to swap seats every ten minutes when the system restarts itself. "Who'd stay longer than ten minutes?" the programmers surely asked themselves. Not too despondently, I settle back to read Kerouac's On the Road and try to remember the lyrics to old Woody Guthrie songs: "so long, it's been good to know yuh . . ."

While the escalators and moving platforms churn their incessant cycles, a Zamboni-like floor polisher breaks sleep rhythms awaiting the subhuman syncopation of overly e-nun-ci-ated "safety warnings" ("please purchase goods and services only from airport concessions"). At seemingly random intervals, shrieking tones like the ones you'd endure at a hearing test ensure that no one slumbers long. Ultimately, the true test of any airport is its chair design. Predictably, in an age of the privatized public locale, each chair is McDonalds-like in peculiar form of molded comfort - just agreeable enough to surprise you after a half hour or so when you simply must get up. The Eames-designed chairs feature sturdy arm rests that render horizontal sleeping impossible for all but the most capable contortionists. Even so, dozens of folks - some homeless, others, upscale travel gypsies - manage to eke out some rest. The chapel, located near the airport security office, offers a dark, carpeted refuge. But the small room can get pretty oppressive if one of your sleeping companions hasn't washed recently. Keep moving.

Reagan National Airport, with its frigid terrazzo floors, quasi Victorian-deco structure, and plentiful restrooms offers a shiny facade but little chance for decent rest or reflection. Traveler-zombies enter-depart, eat-shop, walk-run 18 hours a day. From midnight to six, this purported Jeffersonian space offers stark solace, but no rest. There is, however, always a bright side at the airport. Reagan is hard-wired to the ultra-convenient D.C. metro system and is relatively safe. Subtly placed video cameras, friendly airport cops, and clean, open space, ensure your freedom to relax as long as you like. Just close enough to an Eagles song to be kind of scary, you can check in anytime you like, but you'd better leave. When I get home, I sleep 18 hours straight.

Supplemental Website

Reid, A. (1997). Christening a vision of the future, With a nod to the past. Washington Post, available online: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/local/longterm/library/airport/overview.htm