At the Salt Lake City airport where I’m waiting for my connection a woman paces slowly back and forth in the nearly-empty terminal, talking on the phone. She’s dressed in a clashing hippie ensemble, and she holds the phone a short distance away from her head with the speakerphone on. She ambles more than she walks, rocking side to side, never speeding up or slowing down – purposeful, like she’s following some obscure exercise regimen. The scratchy, tinny voice on the other end of the line is audible from across the long row of seating where I’m sitting. The woman is completely absorbed in the conversation, oblivious to her surroundings, and this roving chat continues for the full hour I’m waiting for my connecting flight.