Who do you call when you’ve alienated all your friends? Where do you go when you have no place to call home? The first answer always eluded her, but as for the latter, the only answer was forward.

Today, forward, in the form of the a Boeing 777, was late and her patience was running thin. She gripped her pillow tightly to her chest, tired from too much walking and not enough sleeping the night before. At that moment, all she wanted was a bed, but she was willing to allow the stiff, non-reclining airplane seats to substitute, if only those seats would arrive.

A late plane, symbolic of all the late family every soccer game or awards ceremony. No seat to sleep in, no friends to comfort her.

Her slackening grip corresponded with her lowering eyes as she drifted unnoticeably into unconsciousness.

“Now boarding flight 251 to Chicago,” but the announcement was muffled by her pillow.