You wrinkle your nose at the bag of salted peanuts.
Why the hell did I not upgrade from commercial?
The stewardess walked towards you, her plastered on smile bothers you.
I almost pity her, she must want to jump out of the plane every other second.
"Hello! Would you care for a drink? More peanuts? Pretzels?" she asked, but not really caring.
"No, no thanks," you mutter.
Just go away!
She leaves, her heels thumping on the carpeted floor of the plane.
You resume reading the safety magazine from the pouch attached to the seat in front of you.
Thump.
Your seat bumps forward with a jolt.
Thump.
Again, it moves suddenly, jerking your head with it.
Thump.
I'm going to strangle them with my earbuds in a minute if they don't knock this shit off.
Thump.
Fucking hell.
YOU ARE READING
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
PoetryMy poetry (sort of poetry, some are short stories) book , its gonna be shit (probably).
