Night flight to Vegas. First proper trip in twenty-two months and my fear of flying has not improved. We crossed a line of thunderstorms along the eastern seaboard, and I searched for cosmic meaning in the turbulence. Although I know the science and statistics by heart, turbulence still leaves me clawing at the seat, overwhelmed by full-bodied vibrations of doom and a sudden belief in fate—a desire to repent and a craving for god, any kind will do. Then the air grows calm again, I forget my vows, and I return to gazing into a screen.
Despite my anxieties, I love flying at night, suspended in a timeless non-space while I watch the electrified grids of distant civilizations spread out below.
