Double Jack Coke at 8:15

Eight fifteen in the morning, eating crummy eggs at airport bar. Guy to the left of me orders a double Jack Coke while a hefty man on my right downs a shot of tequila and a tall beer, courage for their flights or the latest of all night drinking binge. I pull a long human hair from my omelet and consider my orange juice and coffee and feel small, facing a five-hour flight and free alcohol that seems, at this hour, like a long ride to salvation.

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