It's Friday afternoon so everyone in first class is drinking. It's free but that's not really the point. These people are used to free, or at least they're used to ignoring concerns of less than ten dollars. When they drink is more important than why. Or how much. On my last trip a man next to me had three gin and tonics. It was ten in the morning on a Tuesday. The flight lasted seventy-five minutes. He was in his late sixties, dressed impeccably, tweed, a tie with a clip. At the end of the flight, entering final descent, he opened a folder filled with pages of numbers aligned in precise columns. He flipped the pages quickly and sighed. After a minute he closed everything and turned outside as the brown grass of the flat edge of Detroit filled the window.