First class

I start my day scooping up water from the mysterious hilltop-burp stream running behind my house to water my young plants and contemplating how best to attack the groundhog I saw run into the bushes. I end my day sitting in the first class lounge in Dulles airport chatting over wi-fi as I await the beef ribs from a menu with no prices and snack on bits of cantaloupe from the self-serve fruit bar, occasionally glancing up to sip from a tall narrow glass of ice water and taking in the view of jets taxiing on the side of the glass wall. Ah, here are my ribs now, a dainty portion with no bone, unfamiliar to one used to a large plate of groundhog.