Short Stories, Writing


Planes make you so much more emotional and concise, a mixture of high altitude and booze soaked neurons firing around in a meat mush fed brain. I think it’s the closest you can come to complete annihilation, a step you take towards dying one trip at a time. Maybe everyone who gets on a plane is a teeny tiny bit suicidal or spits in the face of god. I spit in the face of god with my BA loyalty card and Jonnie Walker miniature, and emotionally manipulative American accents declaring love to pixared rats and robots who cook and love and help you see that to the right are clouds and sunsets and to the front the underdog always wins.

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