I am on a plane which is beginning to descend into Los Angeles. Across the aisle to my left is a bald man asleep in his chair. He has a square bandage on his head. I wonder how he injured himself and also imagine him hitting it on a hard, low doorway. I also have the thought that I like watching people sleep on planes. Out his window, the Hollywood hills are bathed in the rose-gold hues of dusk. The city sparkles. My arms are somewhat stiff from cradling my dog in my lap. She is also sleeping. I can feel her warmth, her heaviness, and how soft her hair is in my right hand (the left is supporting a pillow, which is supporting her head). Beside me, my husband laughs. He is watching a film on his phone. A feeling of gratitude washes over me mixed with contentment.