Gross? Pretty much. Romantic? Questionable. Immoral? Oh, yeah. You just don’t see this on a plane. Let me explain.
I don’t know his real name, but I’ll call him Bob. He looked like a Bob, with a neatly trimmed mustache, medium build, and just a hint of gray hair. He stowed his carry-on and plopped down in seat 14A like a seasoned traveler. Rather than my Vince Flynn novel or a movie, Bob provided the entertainment for this London to Denver flight.
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