Then she walked.
Last row, four.
Last row ten.
After the extra-legs section where she counted three empty seats.
Last row, twenty.
The passengers looked up as they passed.
Some seemed curious.
Others were embarrassed on his behalf.
Near row twenty-six, an older black man quietly shook his head.
Simone stopped in row thirty-seven.
Middle seat.
Last row.
Directly next to the toilets.
A woman with silver braids was sitting near the window.
She looked at Simone, then towards the front of the plane.
“They sent you back here?”
Simone slid down in the seat.
« Yes. »
The woman sniffed softly.
“I know this walk.”
“What a walk!”
“The walk where you keep your shoulders straight because you refuse to give people the satisfaction of watching you bend over.”
Simone smiled in spite of herself.
“My name is Simone.”
“Loretta Gaines.”
The aisle seat was occupied a few seconds later by a college-aged man carrying a camera bag.
