Nine more hours to go. ...Ugh! It may as well have been nine more days as far as my comfort level was concerned. I was on my way home from a three week trip to Syria and the flight back seemed like it was lasting forever. Stuck between my burly friend and a hairy, middle-aged man who had yet to learn about the wonders of deodorant, my options to kill time were severely limited. Both had figured out a way to sleep vertically leaving my attempts at conversation at a standstill. I wish I could’ve joined them but in all my years traveling, I’ve never managed to contort myself to the proper angle in a plane seat to maintain comfortable sleep. The only way I’ve ever guessed it was possible was to lean on the shoulder of a flight mate. I wasn’t too keen on having the right side of my face smell like boiled onions by choosing the sweaty man’s shoulder, nor was I willing to risk getting punched in the face for snuggling my impulsively violent sound-asleep friend. Sleeping was out.
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