I had a window seat. The man sitting next to me was beautiful. His skin was the darkest dark. Muscles gleamed. A dog yipped incessantly two rows ahead. The man smiled at me sardonically. I thought babies crying on planes were bad, he said. He went to sleep, his mouth slightly open. I nodded off, my head dropped, yanked up. I pushed the shade up as the plane descended, a thin blanket of gray and underneath, blue. Just so much blue.