I'm flying to Arizona this weekend. Later in the week, I'm flying to Burbank. Then I'm flying back to Arizona. On the weekend, I fly home. I hate to fly. Every noise is a harbinger of disaster. I can vividly imagine the wings shearing off, the cabin coming apart, me being flung about the plane while uselessly buckled into my seat. I hear the screams and I see the ground spinning impossibly fast toward me.
If I was allowed to fly the plane, I know that I would feel much safer. Especially after a pitcher of bloody Marys, extra spicy.
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About Me
- Mr. Martin
- If there's one thing I have said, is that the dreams I once had, now lay in bed. As the four winds blow, my wits through the door, it's been the worst day since yesterday
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