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In a Noisy World, This Is What We’re All Starving For
One beautiful line tied it all together.
“Yes! Thank God!” I thought as I settled into an aisle seat and pushed my carry-on under the seat in front of me, relieved to have escaped middle-seat purgatory.
Looking at my phone as passengers filed by, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up.
The tapper pointed to the middle seat.
“Of course,” I said as I got up, and we did the familiar traveler’s waltz. I moved left so she could get her luggage in the overhead bin, then right so she could get to her seat. Other passengers waited in that patient-but-not-patient way one adopts for travel.
Waltz complete. Everything in its temporary place. We settled in for the two-hour flight in our borderline-Faustian bargain with modern air travel.
I don’t travel as much as I used to, but I talk to people more.
Because the pairings are completely random and inherently fleeting, there’s something ageless and even a little romantic about travel conversations.
Even if they aren’t on fog-shrouded train platforms or involving Bogart and Bergman, there’s still something about them.
