"I need some exercise," said Uncle Roger,
squeezing past me into the aisle.
He walked up and down the aisle, bumping
into stewardesses. "I'm a frequent flyer,"
he said to the stewardess with the red hair who
was collecting half empty plastic food trays
a few rows behind us.
He flapped his arms like wings and pivoted around,
heading down the aisle the other way, still
flapping his arms.
Uncle Roger File 3: Terminals by Judy Malloy