Waking up with your elbows pressed against your ribs, sweat on your lower back, tongue still the color of a two-day bruise from cheap Merlot. Callouses on your index finger from hooking the hanger, the muffled growl of suitcase wheels droning in your sleep.

A pretty girl laughs with a fiancee homeward bound to see the folks, a great-grandmother lounges against a graying son. The air smells like dust mites and turpentine and packed human cargo. Twice married and twice marooned, two days late to a birthday you’d never find time to attend. Call on the mobile from the oldest, thirteen and brooding and willing to blame. Groceries and rent checks aren’t parenting.

Offside deal waiting when we land, Tanner’s got them cornered. Sixteen wins if we bag this one – punitives always play out the same. Precedence hit the ground two weeks ago, prosecution’s treading water and Tanner’s got the out – we’re just here to wield the clout and close the game.

Lights roll in, landing in six.

By God I hate space travel.