The mathematics of travel do not favor the tall, as I found again to be true on my LA to Panama flight. After striking out in my search for free wi-fi in the international terminal, I managed to squeeze myself into the seat, only to have another guy almost my size sit next to me.
Alex, I would later find out, runs a smoke shop for his father in Orange County and is touring Peru with his friends for 13 days, particularly Lima and Machu Picchu.
The seat, however, was less friendly, as it was seemingly designed for a 5-year-old, not somebody with legs taking up approximately half of a 6’5 body. The surfer dad, who knew Santa Cruz surf better than I did and described his cousin’s recent suicide as “more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if,’” several times chose to triple the agony by leaning back from his seat directly in front of me.
But still, the food was actually good and I managed to get some sleep, so who am I to complain?