Seats 14 A and B

They both loved bad action movies, ugly boxy safe cars, both drank sickeningly sweet cherry brandy in the winter.
Both came from rural backgrounds and tried hard to hide it, mostly by acting big city and trying to sound like your average white bread TV newscaster.
She was mildly kinky, with a drift into dominatrix fantasies, in a bland, toothless way. He was looking for a mommy figure to keep him in line, and to spank his backside every now and then.
Both were more non-descript than they realized, and would never, ever stand out in a crowd, or do anything remarkable. They were locked into a pleasantly boring life, wage slaves to a corporation that could care less about either of them, and would shake them off like ticks on a dog the first time the quarterly statement looked bad.
In short, they were typical white Americans, riding on the luxury deck of the spaceship earth, clueless about reality. They had all the elements that made for a perfect modern couple. He was in seat 14 A, she was in 14 B.
Of course, they never talked to each other or exchanged eye contact. She never even took out her earbuds, even though she had her I-pod turned off. Like most of their kind, they avoided meeting people on public transportation, preferring boredom over adventure. But they would have been perfect for each other.