Chapter One Hell is a two-hour layover in Atlanta. The woman to my right has been watching me since I sat down. I can tell she's one of those people who take the sheer fact that you're breathing as an invitation to start up a conversation. No eye contact. I let the words repeat in my head as I dig around for my iPod. I always keep it on me, even though it's a model that Apple hasn't made for seven years and the screen is cracked. Pressure builds behind my nose. The woman stirs next to me. No eye contact. And definitely do not-- I sneeze. Damn it.