A mind can wander when one is travelling alone.
After I stowed my bag in the overhead compartment of possibly the tiniest jet flying in the continental United States, bumping my head on the bin across the 12 inch aisle and swearing out loud in front of thirty passengers, I moved to my seat where a very nice looking guy, maybe my age, quickly stood up and asked, “How’s your head?”
I offered him the window seat, partly to be nice and partly because I misread C and D as in it not registering right away which one was actually the window seat. I felt like a Weeble looking for the right peg in a Fisher Price toy airplane.
I settled in by the window, arranging my airplane lucky charms, the big bottle of water, the triple-wrapped blueberry muffin, the new low brow novel, this one Bad Monkey by Carl…
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