Matt Malloy

The man who knew what I was about to say sat next to me on the plane.

A stupid smile plastered across his face.

That's what's so nerve-wracking about him.

Smart, he wasn't.

Or sensitive, either.

But still, he knew those lines and managed to say them.

All the lines I meant to say.

Three seconds before me.

Do you sell Guerlain Mystique?

He asked the flight attendant a minute before I could, and she gave him an orthodontic smile and said, there's just one last bottle left.

My wife goes crazy for that perfume, he said.

She's positively addicted.

If I come back from a trip without a bottle of Mystique from the duty-free, she says I don't love her anymore.

If I dare come into the house without at least one of these, I'm in deep

That was supposed to be my line.

But the man who knew what I was about to say stole it from me, without missing a beat.

As soon as the wheels touched the ground, he switched on his mobile, a second before I did, and called his wife.

I just landed, he told her.

I'm sorry, I know it was supposed to be yesterday.

Flight was canceled.