Marhaban to The Big Apple
I loved flying in my youth (no, I don't mean drugs). It was so rare that I did it, and such an adventure. Not the long hours constricted on a plane, the lack of leg room, the recirculating bacteria-laden, canned air, nor the(current) boredom - none of it bothered me. I wasn't bored, I was thrilled! Now, flying to me is an ordeal; and this was a short trip (relatively speaking), approximately four hours to New York, " deh oldt cahntree" - my hometown. We took the red-eye, taking off after midnight and landing at 6 a.m. I was exhausted, and had developed a sinus post-nasal drip two days before and hadn't slept the night before our flight. But at least I thought that I would be able to sleep a bit. No such luck-hey, are those seats getting narrower, or am I getting wider? (-that's a rhetorical question, buddy.) But then, we finally arrived in New Yawk City: The sights! The smells! The wet cold insinuating itself into one's bones! The dull gray monochromatic...