The man sitting on your right smells like Cheetos rubbed on wet feet.
“Do you know what time it is?” he asks.
You dig in your pocket for your phone. As you bury your hand in your pants, you wonder if you’re being inappropriate with the woman sitting to your left. She’s pressed up against your leg and your cell phone excavation causes the backs of your fingers to jab and caress her outer thigh.
“Two fifty-three,” you say looking at your phone screen.
The guy nods his thanks.
You try to remember when you stopped wearing a watch.