Aspen

DAY TWENTY ONE

The flight from New York to France had stretched into what felt like an eternity. Eight long hours that seemed never-ending, as though the hands of the clock had stopped moving just to tease me. I kept drifting in and out of sleep, only to wake up and realize we were still suspended over the Atlantic. I walked up and down the aisle countless times, sometimes even lingering by the cockpit, pretending I had business there. Mostly, I was just bored to my bones.

But all of ...