Today sucked. I accidentally killed a lizard and I lost my prescription glasses. You don’t know any of this because you have a girlfriend and it’s not me.
Nothing makes you feel less vital to the world than flying above it at 33,000 feet and staring down at the intricate geometry of thousands of lives. It’s the kind of thing that makes you order a scotch “neat.” And when the stewardess pauses and says, “So… with or without ice?” it makes you just stare back and say “neat.”
Great, if this plane crashes, there is no one here I want to hug while crying hysterically. Since when did trying to fall in love have so much in common with falling out of the sky?