We’re pushed together, packed like sardines at the bar
He sees me reading and strikes up a conversation,
Friendly fella sort of guy.
I place my book down to indulge him-
we’re both, after all, just trying to survive
the next flight,
the next trip home.
“You could fit hundreds of books in a kindle,” he tells me, as I begin stuffing my book in my bag
I regret not telling him to fuck off.