"He hates cigarette smoke," the girl in the next seat mumbled as she smoked her kretek.
   My curiousity got the better of me.  "Who does?"
   "My...  uncle," she said, then laughed sharply.  "Uncle."
   "Ah," I said, and looked back to my newspaper.
   "And coffee," she said.  "He can't stand coffee.  Or fans or airplanes.  I can't have the tv on if he's there and he says it took him forever to find a refrigerator as quiet as his.  And then there's the blackout curtains."
   I blinked and looked at the girl again.  "Blackout curtains?"
   "Yeah.  He doesn't like sunlight."
   "Why not?"
   "He says it's his eyes.  And his skin.  He gets sores or something.  From the sun."
   "Photosensitivity," offers a lady across the aisle.  "My cousin Amelia has that.  She can't go out in the sun at all.  It fries her."