Sometimes when jet lag and sleep deprivation are all riding my
back, and I'm not sure what city I was just in or where I was
going, I think that maybe the only real thing in the world are
airports and planes, and the rest is just a dream or
hallucination. Like I'll live out a thousand years in empty blue
suspension, till the memories of having a home, a family,
friends all just fade away and there's nothing but the seat-back
in front of me and the view out the window and whatever stories
I can tell about the things for sale in the Sky Mall catalogs.
They used to say that it's not where you're headed but the
journey there that matters, and if that's so then Western
Civilization is dieing one delayed flight and in-flight movie at
a time. Or maybe just me - the white men in black suits seem to
be bearing up just fine. Sometimes I fantasize about leading a
charge to the First Class cabin, tearing out their self-
satisfied jugulars with my teeth, and liberating my flight for
the Coach Class masses. Most of the tim