Tray Table

There is a plastic placemat suspended
from the seat in front of me, now kindly
supporting the weight of my near-sleeping
brain. I had every intention of
using the molded-in cup holder to
keep a whiskey drink from tumbling during
the bumpier portions of this flight, the
hitting-more-air times, but I’m much too tired.
I’ve been listening to Beethoven or
whatever else this airline deems to be
culturally significant enough
to stuff into their perfectly timed seat
radio—a concerto here, a slow
symphony there—and now I am falling.

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