First Class Pov [2025]

I don’t belong here.

I take off my shoes. Not because my feet hurt, but because they hand you an actual amenity kit made of recycled sailcloth that contains hand lotion from a brand I cannot pronounce. The slippers are waiting. Slippers. On a plane. This is not travel; this is a prelude to a nap. first class pov

– A passenger in 2A

But for now, I am going to lie here, listen to the hum of the engines, and pretend that this is just how I live. I don’t belong here

As I sink into this leather throne—heated, naturally—I catch my own reflection in the polished wood grain of the divider. I look the same as I did twenty minutes ago, when I was weaving through the gate crowd with a backpack strap digging into my shoulder. But everything else has changed. The slippers are waiting

Will I sleep? Probably not. I will likely watch a bad movie and eat a warm cookie on a real plate.

I am not "Mr. H" anywhere else. At home, I am "Hey, can you take out the trash?" At work, I am the guy who sends the calendar invites. But up here, for the next seven hours, I am a protagonist.