Row seventeen, seat two.
French is the language of choice.
Leg, back, and arm extensions aren't the best in that position, but sleep in her lap all the same.
The bear in row fifteen, seat one, is calling out for a mate through ritualistic snoring.
The girl adjacent departed because she wasn't interested or the noise prevented her from sleeping.
Pit stop in a capital city.
Picking up and dropping off travel aficionados before breaking for the border.
The waitress wasn't pleased to meet anyone, her behavior not quite professional.
The selected officials search through the human cargo for contraband.
Restless energy waiting to be released on the other side.
Arriving with expectations of grandeur, only to amble aimlessly about the area.
The local inhabitants are of course different, primitive in their dress, inhibited in their actions.
The whisper-quiet ride and cleanliness of the subway system exceeds those back home.
Amused at the amusement park, shaken, rattled, and turn upside down and inside out.
Dos margaritas, sin sal, por favor.