August 25, 2016:
Rude-ass prick throws his seat back, entitled. He's short-haired and bearded, black, silver disk earrings, Beats. With consummate affectation he has his shades on inside an airplane. He's animated, waving both hands, joking with Johnny White Hair in the seat beside. They're drinking mini bottles, laughing, bouncing around. Oblivious to all but themselves.
My rowmate chows popcorn from a bag, wiping salt from fingers before turning pages of her paperback, filling the space with pungent popcorn breath reeking of claustrophobia. She's forty, pinched face, blondish, nervous, gripping her armrest in minor turbulence and scraping her thumbnails together spasmodically in smooth air. Not a happy flier.
My other rowmate removes his shoes, slumps barefoot half across his seat, half across mine, snoring.