Middle Seat

Two hours to landing, and he's shoveling down several rows of sushi now, soy sauce stains on his Tommy Bahama shirt. Not the most considerate seatmate, but he's kept to himself throughout the flight. I'm a row behind and diagonal. I can see what he's been watching on his phone for the past two hours and it's nothing more interesting than last season of "Game of Thrones." I'm thankful it's nothing more graphic than that.

I was reluctant to this seat, but needing to get to New York for work with less than twenty-four hours notice made it the only option. The privileged expat community in the Bahamas is small, and my friend Rich offered a spot on his plane already headed that way. Little did I know who my seatmates would be.

I've heard he'll be arrested when we land. I hope he is.