Tart and sweet. On ice. In a tiny cup offering exactly five swallows to choke down the pretzels or graham crackers, of which there are exactly five bites.
But consumed at 30,000 feet, it just… hits differently than if you were to procure this snack combo at home.
At 30,000 feet, you’re neither here nor there.
At 30,000 feet, you’re either coming or going.
Definitely not stationary.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was enjoying my go-to airplane cranberry juice at 30,000 feet, after a much-needed-but-out-of-character-for-me trip to blow off some steam and disconnect ahead of an upcoming life roll.
More on the trip later.
More on the life roll later.
But today I’m neither here nor there.
Neither coming nor going.
Not stationary, either, because in roughly 72 hours, life will be… different.
I offer this place-holder to keep my Monday streak alive (been going for 315 posts now).
It’s basically airliner snack-service size: exactly five little bites, and you’re through.
