Practice makes practice

As I was waiting to get inside the fuselage of the plane, I was fixated on these electric blue stretchies, Fat cow pants for cos that shouldn’t wear pants…these were no ordinary stretches, the texture was that of corrugated eggshell…a polyester pique of puke-inducing landscape of an imaginary sky painted by a meth head…Of course she sat next to me, with her soft-boiled eggs and buttermilk toast in a chinet bowl…Her carry-on steamer truck had no chance of fitting in a lavatory, let alone the overhead compartment…and her tubercular cough had me at at a perpetual ‘semi’

Today was as good as any to become a germophobe…she was coughing up bloody mary mix…I was dry heaving….she just never heard of hands covering a mouth and sexual favors were not out of the question if her husband would strangle her and dispose of the body