First Class Pov !!exclusive!! May 2026

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

When the cart comes, it is not a cart. It is a tablecloth. Sylvie sets a miniature salt cellar and a pepper grinder next to my plate. The salmon is not dry. The salad is not warm. There is an actual fork, heavy and cold, not a spork made of biodegradable sadness. first class pov

I eat slowly. Not to be pretentious, but because there is nowhere to rush. I have a lie-flat bed waiting. I have a duvet. A duvet. Will I sleep

I watch the other cabins board through the gap in the curtain. The economy passengers shuffle past, eyes flicking toward the flat-bed seats with a mixture of curiosity and mild resentment. I feel a flush of guilt. I was them last Tuesday. I will be them next Tuesday. When the cart comes, it is not a cart

The flight attendant—her name is Sylvie, according to the tiny gold pin on her blazer—remembers my preference. She doesn’t ask if I want champagne. She simply places a glass of Billecart-Salmon on the burled walnut tray and says, "Welcome back, Mr. H."