Photo by ketut pexels.com
by Kathryn Silver-Hajo
My adventure-ready carry-on is midway to the overhead when this guy offers to hoist it up. You’re a prince, I say. Curlicued mustachios climb skyward as he volleys the bag into the bin, then proffers a card between crossed fingers, whisper smooth. Call me. I tilt my head towards the next row back, say, Give that to Harry, would you? Shoulders sagging, his ‘stache plummets to the blue mood-lit aisle.
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Kathryn Silver-Hajo writes, worries about the world, wonders how it will all work out, and writes some more.
