He stayed bent toward me, his breath carrying a faint smell of peppermint gum and airport coffee.

“I just figure if you’re going to stroll through Gate C27 dressed up as a lieutenant colonel, you ought to pick ribbons that actually go together,” Evan said, raising his voice until it echoed off the metal boarding signs above us.

“That Senior Parachutist badge looks like it came out of a cereal box.”

A traveler three seats down lowered his newspaper to watch.

I didn’t turn my head.