Dear Mr. 28C,
Airplane rides are fantastic. They take you to a new, exciting place. Don't you love new destinations? Don't you hate those cramped seats? I know you do. When I saw you and all your rotundity barreling down the center aisle at the last minute, I knew you were destined to sit next to me.
You didn't think twice when you told me in your broken English to switch you seats because you prefer the aisle. Who doesn't? It's quite bizarre. You tell me to switch you seats so you can have more space, but I don't understand why your elbow was in my ribcage for most of the flight.
You also didn't think twice about wearing deodorant. Hell, you didn't even think once about wearing it. Even before you reached up to adjust the light above my head, I could tell there was one item that TSA must have confiscated from your carry-on.
I suppose what took me by surprise the most was when I took a five-minute nap and awoke to you reading a magazine... my magazine. The Economist, that sensationalist rag will update you to all the celebrity dirt and gossip. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed traveling with you.
Grateful it was only a four-hour flight,
28B
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