Last week I flew on Airtran. No problems, except I always have a very hard time opening their pretzels bag. There are instructions on the bag about how to eat the pretzels but no clues for opening the bag.
I, many times, like to chat up my seatmates if they seem agreeable. It's a good thing about being older. Nobody thinks I'm hitting on them, just being friendly - or a nuisance.
But this time the man sitting next to me appeared unfriendly - even sinister. He was a young African American, wearing a hoodie with the hood up. Dreadlocks poking out. He wasn't sleeping. He looked straight ahead.
So I left him alone.
But then I was struggling with the pretzels.
He reached over and gently took the bag from my hands. Then said, "I'll open it for you."
He handed it back. Our palms touched. I said, "Thanks."
It was a tender moment.
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