Of all the dual-width alphanumeric combinations possible, my Anchorage-bound flight departed from the explosive gate C4. Still, I felt that if death by aircraft was to be my obligatory end, I would rather go out at once in a big bang than plummet to earth in a nauseous descent.

It is important, especially on longer flights, that the people in seats adjacent yours are people whom you immediately respect based only on their appearance and apparent demeanor. No one wants to sit next to:

1. An exhibit of poor hygiene or
2. A person who ignores the personal space boundary represented by the imaginary 2D plane emanating from the seam between seats

I drew a good card this time around. On my left was the aisle. On my right, a woman in her late 20s. She was attractive, clean, and had an amicable quality about her which enhanced the respectful silence that existed between us. As close to an ideal flight neighbor as one could hope for. Her spouse sat in the window seat. The language of the magazine she read betrayed their foreign status. Possibly a scandinavian country, definitely Western Europe. My respect for them grew, mostly the result of a jealousy for their heritage.

Plane switch.

As we approached Fairbanks, I observed in pained amusement that the city was welcoming me with a blanket of smoke; a silken blanket with holes in places, clumps of spruce trees poking through. An ignorant passenger asks the flight attendant, concerned “What’s that smell?” “That would be the forest fires, sir.”

Just enough carbon monoxide in the air to tempt maniac law enforcement to issue a fine against anyone caught breathing. No threat of a headache, merely an immobilizing lethargy fostering nonchalance towards one’s societal contribution.