Roughly 4 hours into the flight. First up Antzo inspects his dinner with a most cynical look upon his brow, first world problems no doubt! I set myself aside from the rest with the superior choice of beef goulash. However trouble is brewing, Antzo, upset with his meal, discards his cheese and holds the crackers to himself, BUSTA! 
A couple of hours later, Dags, in an attempt to secure as much value as possible from the airline through beers, passes out in an abysmal display of character. Cans of 100% Argentinian malt beer strewn across his lap like a Carrum Downs car park on centerlink payment night. I decide to move to comfort mode, however to my dismay my flight table won’t fold back into place. Cock! Well how cumbersome slow brutis Marcus is when he proceeds to assist me and instead tears my customs form in a fashion akin to when Pangea separated into smaller continents <scribbles> (turbulences… good for writing.) I’m not putting my belt on, that requires moving the table. Let’s not verse the issue any further.
Despite the insufferable movie playing on a TV from the 80’s, I remain calm. There is an airline radio channel with only JT on. Sleep is on the cards but I don’t think I can switch off just yet. Maybe I’ll do a lap and see if the chica on the far left needs a cuddle partner. Bitch has two seat after all and hasn’t smiled all flight. Maybe I should flex? Hmm the cabin is a bit small, let’s try for some shut eye instead.
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