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September 11, 2001 Attacks
Air travel, literature and its discontents
Air travel, literature and its discontents

Flying from Los Angeles to New York on Sunday, I sat next to a kid not too far from my son’s age who had eight drinks in the course of a five-hour flight. I wasn’t trying to keep count, but after a while, it became impossible not to do so — every time the flight attendant passed, he asked for another one. At first, I was curious and later, annoyed; he didn’t look of age and, anyway, aren’t they supposed to cut you off at a certain point? But I didn’t say anything until he spilled a drink across the floor between us at the start of our descent. Why not? In the first place, it wasn’t my responsibility; I try to operate whenever possible as what, in...

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