“It’s going to be a dark flight.”
I looked at the man next to me. He didn’t look like the prophetic kind that would mutter sinister predictions. He didn’t look like a terrorist, either.
Not that one really knows what terrorists look like since they seem to come in all shapes, genders and sizes. Not all of us have the keen terrorist and weapon detecting eye of, let’s say, soon to be ex-President George W. Mass Destruction Bush.
To be on the safe side, I simply said, “Uhuh.”
He got out a paper bag, from which he extracted a pretzel.
My middle-aged freckled neighbor with the short blond hair continued, “There’s hardly a moon in the sky now.” Munch. “That time of the month.” Chew and swallow. “That’s why.” Another bite. “Of course, most people pull their shutters down anyway.” More munch. “Not me.” Swallow. “I can’t sleep on flights.” Bite and chew. “Never have been able to.” Munch. “How about you?”
– James Steerforth
An imaginary, hopefully not too far-fetched and somewhat amusing sketch on flight as prescribed by Writers Island.