about a seatmate, a partner

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On my plane, I sat next to guy who looked like a small Ed Harris. Five-four, five-five, bald head. But with a Roman nose leading his narrow face. He spent most of the flight with his head resting against the seat back in front of him. Half the time while wearing ​eye​glasses​.

 

About being capable of feeling great affection

I hate everything about the way this guy looks: the golf shirt tucked into his "nice jeans," leaving just enough give to hip-swivel 20 degrees (engineered and tested before leaving the house); his low-profile sunglasses; and his perma-shape pompadour, three shades above black, a bubble blown from a sharp part. This turd aspires to fitness without strain. Jeremy. Jeremy thinks calling his boss "boss" boosts his ego, and Jeremy likes exercising that little bit of control over his superior's emotions. Doing so also, he thinks, curries favor.

about a Snickers, in five bites

I see before me a man who wants to enjoy his Snickers bar. He is very different from the man I saw before me earlier, who set himself in the airport chair by gate 25 to eat a whole sleeve of Oreo cookies. No, this Snickers man takes just two bites of his candy bar before takeoff; the next two bites will power him through the airport, and what the last bite is for only this slender man so efficiently built knows.