Sevda Khatamian | airplane
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Lazy Letter: Riding on an Airplane

I found my seat. I got the window seat. You know that I usually ask the counter guy for a window seat, but this time it was a self-check-in in one of those machines; I was lucky.

Hi, I said to the man taking the seat next to mine. He was a man in his fifties or early sixties. He was tall. I could tell he was one of those tall people before he even stood up. Broad shoulders and long arms. Do you need a hand with your bag? He asked politely. His accent revealed his nationality. Which city, I wondered.

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