SHORT STORY: The Woman in Seat 2A
She was a woman who appeared in her mid 40's. No particularly discernible qualities. Muddy brown, wiry hair that was long and pulled back to a low hanging side-ponytail to the left of her head. A blueish tie-dye t-shirt, Levi's jeans with embellished pockets, generic black sneakers, drug store sunglasses perched on the crown of her head, and no makeup. She was the kind of gal you would immediately think of as living in the country, loved horses, maybe smoked a casual cigarette, and was out in the sun so much that it had aged her skin. Rough...but, genuine. Raw. A woman who could hold her own. A woman who had seen a thing or two during her lifetime. I don't know her name, so I'll just call her "2A". I watched her enter the plane, scanning the seat row signs on the overhead bins. She'd found her seat not too far past where she had entered: 2A. A single window seat in First Class. A seat where she didn't have to talk to anyone. Normally, in Fi
