April 30, 2016:

Reaching down to rummage blind through a purse half way into the aisle, until with a thud and clink of glass a half dozen microbottles roll into my boot: whisky and dark rum, ominous at 3:00 in the afternoon and 38,000 feet.

She's young, perhaps 25, but she has the faded and sunbruised patina of a woman much older. Leopard skirt and silver hoops, pearloid bangle on lovely chocolate wrist. Filling a crossword puzzle with a pen.

Not bright. No evident awareness of those around her, as the same handful of small children and obese adults repeatedly crowd before the restroom.

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