Taking Flight

My pits are damp before they even open the door of the plane to throw us pasty white sun worshippers out onto the sticky tarmac. I didn't talk to anyone the past two hours, reveling in the flight's half-emtiness. I am a recluse on an airplane--my aluminum sanctuary. No one can touch me up here. At 30,000 feet, I am unclaimed. Not employee, not girlfriend, not roommate, not daughter.

I could be anyone.
Just Seat 16A.