I’m not an easy flyer, and I know many of you aren’t either.
So imagine this.
I’m on an airplane leaving the city of love to return to the city of champions, and incidentally, the city where 9/11 began.
I keep my head buried in my book, burying as well memories and misgivings, expectations and excitement on my upcoming re-location. But the fellow sitting next to me (I’m in the aisle, he’s in the window seat, with no one in between), in his early 40s, well-dressed with the requisite 2-day-old beard and unscuffed suede loafers, continually looks at his watch. 
Over and over again. Continue reading
