Pete shifts in the deceivingly unsquishy seat, eyes looking up from the book in his lap to scan the cramped quarters. His ass is numb, and he’s pretty sure he’s missing his legs from the knee down. That’s going to hurt later, he thinks to himself as he covers his mouth to catch the yawn.
The joys of transatlantic flight, for sure. The monitor in the headrest of the seat in front of Pete tells him that the plane is somewhere over eastern Canada. A little over nine hours left.
Sighing, Pete pulls out his iPod and flips the song playing to something more soothing and closes his eyes, hoping to sleep the rest of the way to the UK. He hugs the book to his chest like a well-loved teddy bear.
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