I AM PULLO OF THE FIGHTING 13TH!!!!!

Make-up-smell cloud masking the coffee breath, thankfully.  Double-swigs, from the makeshift container fashioned out of a Fiji water bottle, of the tan liquid looking cold and over-milky through the frond and putridly pink flower.  She leans in close--"...and he touches her on the leg."  I feel my eyes conspicuously holding focus and lingering on her face not wanting to give away my discomfort by glancing away or turning my head even...and to what anyway, the chubby ladies across the aisle in new winter coats with fashionable faux fur rimmed hoods gesturing at each other with their Kindles gossiping, indifferent to Dragon Tattoo novels glaring out at them from the screens patiently waiting for another shot at a virtual tickle of their greying libidos via pseudo-sado-machochisma and psycho-sexual anonimities?  "And you know he's Dominican and so I told him, in Spanish, 'you know I'm Columbian and so I'm just telling you but there's white parents around here won't think twice about bringing you up on harassment--sexual' and he just stares at me."  Larry in the next seat snoozes or pretends to and I get a close-up view of the smearing of colors on lids and cheeks and of the cold river snaking by the window.