Flight 23, Seat 14B

Episode 8:
Chicago to Seattle, Cattle Class, Middle Seat.

The woman on my left is using a seat belt extender. She is also blocking out all daylight from the tiny window. The man on my right is also obese and his massive love handle is flowing into my space. There is nothing he or I can do so we pretend he is not fat and everything is fine.

I can’t open a paperback. There is no room. I don't own an iPod. All I can do is lean forward and rest my head into the seatback in front of me. The space that I evacuated, behind my upper body, fills up suddenly by the chubbies on my left and right. Nature abhors a vacuum.

It feels like a crypt and I have been sealed up alive.

Hamsini has to work all weekend.

I try to breathe smoothly and meditate. The air is filled with germs.

Suddenly, the man in front of me drops his seat violently and buckles my neck. I squeeze back into the space that was my seat.

The booze cart comes by and with a buck from Charlie, and four of my own, I buy gin which I drink straight from the miniature bottle.

I miss my Hamsini.