![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4370/1045/400/offthewing.jpg)
Only 8,066 miles to touchdown, the screen tells me. It takes longer to go West, no? Especially when one is going West to go (far) East. This number grows as we pull away from the ramp and reverses toward the runway. The same screen informs me that thers is no smoking on this flight. Fuck! Wish somebody had taken the time to mention that earlier! And now, fight as I might, they won't even let me down the aft stairs to take one last puff. Ingrates. But gratefully, as fate would have it, they're playing the kind of upbeat, yet relaxing music that conjures up ideas of both heaven and acupuncture. So I take my whiskey and O.J. (can't remember the name but I know it's not Maker's) and settle back into my seat. Once seated I learn that while I won't be receiving a massage, I will at least be treated to both dinner and breakfast, all the better to coat my stomach for the comp;imentary booze. Hip Hip Hooray!
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