IMPORTANT NOTES FROM JUSTIN:
I'm sitting in my tiny seat on some low–budget American Airlines flight to Miami. The accommodations are on par with what I'd expect from a jail cell in Haiti—only more cramped and less fun.
But, we started the night right. I brought a bunch of brownies (courtesy of my mom) to share. And, the security people didn't seem to bother with the bottle of muscat I brought for a pre–flight warm–up. Before boarding Dave Marr popped vicodin into our mouths—to prepare us for the agony of American Airlines flight 392.
As soon as we got the chance, indulged in some of the red "wine" the plane was serving for free that night. The wine was terrible, but it helped us to wash down the muscle relaxers we passed between ourselves.
When the staunchy old flight attendants finally reached our row, Jovino bought as all a round of drinks. We all had doubles.Vicodin. Flexeril. Alcohol. We hadn't even left the country yet. But still it wasn't enough to numb us from the cramped beef–cattle conditions that our $352 ticket entitled us to—sauna–like heat, cruel hosts (the stewardess said she wouldn't serve us more than two drinks each at a time), and seats that made a pile of red ant–covered anvils seem as inviting as a hand–job from a fifteen–year–old cheerleader with a generous, absent–minded pharmacist for a father by comparison.
But, now it is time for some napping. I've inflated the funny u–shaped pillow that fits snugly around my neck. The eye mask I got from some flight in Africa some years ago perches on my forehead, ready at any moment to drop a few inches onto my chemically–parched eyes.
This will be my goodbye to today; this will be my farewell to the United States for a while, this will be the first clasp of the warm of embrace of an adventure with four beautiful friends.
PREVIOUS ENTRY - NEXT ENTRY