The trip to Nicaragua went by relatively uneventful. Cramped flights punctuated by long, boring layovers in airports in Portland, and Houston. On the longest flight, the one from Portland to Houston, my ticket indicated I had a window seat. Though, when I arrived at my row, a large black woman had stolen my seat. I glared at her, and upon sitting down in the middle seat she apologized and thanked me for understanding her situation. Which I took to meant ībeing fatī. Though, since she did adknowledge the fact that she had usurped me from my rightful seat, I was less
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