Taste the friendly skies
Some among us are fated to spend our airline hours trapped between the blinding light of the window seat and the searing, fetid breath of the fat, wheezing man in the aisle seat. I am one so fated. His wheezing was the typical sort one would expect from an asthmatic charged with sprinting up 17 flights of stairs with an armload of fresh firewood. However he was in full slovenly recline and the wheezing showed no signs of letting up. Let me share with you, my breakfast. First class is still afforded a meal of sorts. We, the elite, gold-card,…
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