Giving thanks for that drunk guy on the plane
The only downfall was my seat-mate, the requisite Drunk Guy on the Plane. As he squirmed into the chair beside me, reeking of that stale mouthwash-and-sweat perfume so popular with homeless guys at bus stations, he informed me that yes, he had made a stop at the airport bar before boarding. I politely began breathing through my mouth and opened a book to ignore him, certain that he would be asleep in minutes. Which he was, face-first on his tray table.










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