February 17, 2017:

11B reaches across my nose to slam the window up. "You could have asked," I tell her. "I'd have been happy to." She merely glowers.

She's chunky and disheveled and cares solely for her personal comfort. Throws her elbows out, fidgets, thrashes into both neighbors while pulling on a sweater. Snarfs a smelly cheeseburger and orders smelly wine. She has earbuds in and watches softcore porn on her phone: skirt-up heroine knees wide on tabletop fucked missionary by suit-and-vested hero, no genetalia on view. She has her neck encased in a donut-ring pillow and leans forward to gain momentum before slamming her back into her chair. She's entirely oblivious to the comfort of others.

From inside the thrum of engines and human silence she snorts reflexively, bellows a belly laugh which startles the rows around her, and leans back to nap, wholly unaware.