I didn’t come to see the city. I came to see it around you.
What I love most about flying is the sound of the air, how the thick whir clouds my words before they can reach my neighbor. At the holy moment, the cabin starts convulsing and the vents turn into tiny overhead turbines. It becomes flight-in-flight… the anticipation of lift, the imagination of unfolding, the vehicle slowly apologizing to ground, and the haunting, new, invisible road. The space transcends itself, but the unveiling is kept at a distance from me. I only have this little loud replica turbine. Like a little model sailboat. Like playing pirates in childhood and naming the carpet the sea.