16
David sat in the first-class section of the plane, drumming his fingers on the armrest. It had taken too long: the drive to his apartment; the drive to the airport. Too long. Then the lady at the airline check-in counter had made him wait two hours for the next nonstop flight to Seattle. First class was all they had available, they had said, and charged him a pretty penny, too.
He was lucky they had let him on at all. He had not taken the time to clean up and still had the dirt and grime on his clothes from the morning’s encounter. To the counter person he must have looked like a homeless guy desperate to get out of town. Of course most homeless people don’t have a Platinum Visa, but still she double-checked the card and his license several times, squinting at his face, ready t
