2 november

He stayed in his own lane these days, mostly, and so he’d pass these fly-by-diners and head to the news shop to pick up swedish fish and cheetos -- two things that he always craved but could not bring home. If the shop had chocolate milk, too, so much the better. With his loot, he would find a quiet airport corner to stuff down the cheetos, making the most of the crunch and the favor while making a conscious effort to minimize the snow of fluorescent cheese powder all over his clothes and skin -- and wash it down with the chocolate milk, as available. Once satisfied and thoroughly scrubbed -- especially those carefully licked fingers -- he would board the plane and strategically angle for and then down the swedish fish throughout the entire flight. Sometimes he would precisely subdivide the flight by fish, keeping clear intervals and exercising his powers of self-control by letting the fish melt in his mouth on particularly long flights. He’d come to see it as a form of meditation, almost, and had often considered bringing it up with someone. But again -- what would he say, and who would he say it to? “Hey, I’m getting a little close to achieving inner peace and possibly even enlightenment over here by slowly sucking on a red gummy fish. You should totally try it.” No doubt the people sitting next to him were already well aware of what he was doing, if not the internal mental digestion of the fish. It’s hard to do much on a plane that goes unnoticed by those beside you -- especially if it involves food, especially something sweet, and especially if there’s some kind of cellophane packaging.