A narcissistic Princeton dropout is driven insane by his inability to spell a simple word in the newspaper crossword section.
I walk at a leisurely pace to dump my coffee cup in the trash, though I keep the partially drenched newspaper in my hand. I hold it a few inches away from my waist, for I hear it drip occasionally. Every few seconds, a bit of coffee will roll down the side of the paper and splatter noiselessly on the ground beside me. As I walk to my departure gate, I soon realize I have left a trail behind me that leads all the way back to the restaurant. Even on the airplane the newspaper drips, though I keep it on the fold-down tray so that it spills away from me. I tap the eraser of the pencil against my nose and stare at the empty boxes. Normally, I sleep on flights, but right now I feel oddly drawn to this crossword.
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