There’s something about listening to Southern accents that’s really warm and comforting to me. This poor country girl, who’s my age and unhappily married to a drug addict (but rendezvousing with a guy in the Navy), is now trying to fend off the advances of an annoying old guy from Connecticut. He won’t stop making fun of her accent and bringing up the fact that he’s a lawyer and he’s written two self-help books. It makes me not want to admit that I live in New York now, lest they take me for a jerk like him. A couple other passengers came to her defense by teasing him into a castrating silence. Some folks are riding north from Key West, and had a debate about what to call drag queens. “Do they think they’re girls? Or do they just want to look like them? I don’t want to offend them, what should I call them?” Then we all had a brief, positive discussion about gender pronouns. We also just freaked out about catching a glimpse of some dude jerking himself off in his car on the Florida Turnpike. No sir. We reckon you best keep both hands on the wheel, mister. Now I reckon I best read some Dean Spade and take a nap.