April 13, 2017:
Missus Grumpykins frowns aggressively. The passenger in line ahead of her has an oddly-shaped package to stow in the overhead. She disapproves mightily, broadcasting her displeasure silently but loudly with a grimly sour puss which starts me busting up. I can be snotty sometimes.
The flight crew were on my hotel shuttle this morning. I tell them, "I know all your secrets." They seem more alarmed than amused.
The middle seat is empty, the middle seat is empty, the middle seat is empty, the middle seat is empty. Repeated to myself like a magic formula intended to keep it true.