Monday my throat had a few razors in it; by Tuesday morning it hurt. Smooching little kids will do that, except that quickly? So I might have passed it to them, especially since RDC had the same thing. Spreading Dr. Seuss and pestilence wherever we go, that's us.
In Logan I bought some books from Borders because I knew I would continue ignoring Iris Murdoch and James Baldwin, as I had all weekend, this time because my brain was falling out rather than being otherwise occupied. I bought pop history.
On the third-empty plane, I hoped I might be spared rowmates. Nope. They cruelly prolonged my hope by being the last passengers to board (which I noticed for certain because of how long I stood in the aisle while they filed in, watching the attendants arm the doors). I did offer to swap my aisle for their window seat, but they declined.
In a four-hour flight, the two of them got up a total of five goddamn times, two for her and three for him, which--hey!--I wouldn't have noticed or minded at all if they had just sat aisleward from me to start with. And neither would speak to me or touch my arm (I wore headphones) while they wanted out or in. They would just stare, each of the ten times I moved for them. I hated them.