anything.
She would rather clear snow from her sidewalk at seventy-eight than call for help.
If she was asking for this, there had to be a reason.
“Okay,” I said.
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
First class was every bit as luxurious as advertised.
Wide gray seats.
Actual glassware.
Thick pillows.
A flight attendant offered me orange juice before departure.
I felt miserable.
Seat 3A stayed empty until almost the last passenger boarded.
Then a businessman in a gray suit dropped into it while talking on his phone.
He never looked
