An older man, early 50s, is just ahead of me as we get on the escalator. He looks a little unstable. A little scared.

A lady gets on at Osan and asks me to let her get past to here seats. I am ready for this. I am up in a tinkle and let her in.

In kitchens all over Korea, there are little lines of grubby blue plastic sticking out of sink drains, cupboards, and stove-top grease hoods.

"I do graph theory." I say, assuming by his question that he knows something about math. "Oh!" he sounds excited, "So you're a sports mathematician?"

I wonder who is going to sit next to me. Will it be a hairy teen, a loose bouncy french woman, a talkative farmer, or a soulless statistician. It could be anyone. It feels like I am on the program 'The Good Place' waiting for my soul mate.

I have good pees and I have bad pees. And nobody comes down on me harder than I good when a pee doesn't go the way it should.

An open letter to the guy in Paris with the blue suit and the bag of apricots: You aren't better than me just because you have a bag of apricots.

Service on the plane is great. They have mango juice. My review of Etihad: shitty website, great planes and service.