Three young people, three different dreams, and one aging American tourist.

     I heave my carry-on into the overhead bin and prepare to settle into my seat, when I realize I now have a seat mate.  When I checked in online the night before, there was no one assigned to the window.  As I comment on this fact, the young man with clear azure blue eyes and a length of pale blonde hair sweeping across his face grins. “I’m here now, he says.  “Would you like the window seat?”

     “No,” I reply, “my cranky joints prefer the extra room the aisle gives me.”