A covert operation

Mr. Flintstone has a meeting in Timbuktu.

I have a meeting in Timbuktu.

Coincident of all coincidence, we are going to be in Timbuktu at the same time. 

We'll rendezvous at O-Nine-Hundred hour at Gate # to be determined at [insert large east coast city here] airport.  

We'll hug.  

I'll want to grab munchies for the long ride to Timbuktu. 

Mr. Flintstone will happily schlep my things.  

Mr. Flintstone will take the aisle seat and I, the window. 

I'll easily fall asleep for a quick nap, shortly before the takeoff.  

Mr. Flintstone will be typing away on his laptop. 

I'll get up, ask for more coffee, read, knit, write, daydream... 

Mr. Flintstone will fall asleep with his mouth slightly open. 

He'll wake up startled when my index finger hits the roof of his mouth. 

I'll fall asleep again shortly before the landing.  

We'll grab his bags - me always wondering why he must check his. 

We'll get into a car to our hotel.

Have a nice dinner together. 

Hit the gym in the morning.   

After a late brunch, we'll dutifully check into our respective hotels.

We'll each have dinner with our respective colleagues. 

Then rendezvous for a night cap. 

Get up early for our respective meetings.  

(am thinking maybe I'll sneak him into my room so I can get that extra 30 minutes of sleep.. and also because it's naughty :-))