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Crowded, outdated, and served by a row of no-name shops where prices are twice what they are on the outside, Terminal A at National Airport is a dingleberry of despair on the airport’s derrière. No spirit-lifting jaunts through a César Pelli walkway at Terminal A: Security coughs you out into a concrete arena where the PA is always broken and ticket agents stand on a chairs shouting which row numbers may board. No Starbucks, Olsson’s, or Così once you’re past security: Make do with Euro Café, a mini-Hudson News, or Allie’s Deli instead. It’s not often that boarding a hot, oversold airplane feels like moving up in the world.