‘Ey,” he says, pulling himself up slowly into a seated position, feigning intent to help me with my bags without actually making any move to do so. He sniffs and raises an expectant brow at me. Note how he hasn’t introduced himself but expects an introduction from me—Dickheadery 101. “Uh, I’m Ryan. Ryan Haraway.” “‘Ey,” he says again. Ah, a riveting conversationalist. Lucky me. Just what I need. Just the type I’ve always wanted to be cooped up with. In a small space. For prolonged periods of time. With no way of escape.
