The Man Behind Me Kept Kicking My Seat—Until I Turned Around And Saw What He Was Hiding
It started with a nudge. Then a full-on jolt that spilled my ginger ale all over my tray table. I turned around to glare, and there he was—gray-haired, scruffy, oversized hiking shoes now wedged behind my seat like he owned the damn row. I gave him the look. You know the one.
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