Flying St LaCroix to Newark

On my left a rather knock-kneed and
unattractive young lady was saying there might
be empty seats up front. On my right a toddler
imitated the sounds of someone being brutally killed.
Behind me, unseen knees pressed urgently into the
small of my back. Meanwhile, Aaron Feldman, the
account man, sat silently ensconced in first class.
He looked like he knew things. Important things.
I considered him dangerous only because his blank
personality encouraged me to project my paranoia
onto him. And on that day I was carrying quite a
few reels.