This is my life. I’m on a plane. The plane is going down. I’m watching this on TV. The TV is off. I have friends over, in my hotel room, people I’ve never met. I have no friends.
Let me start again.
I work the company tradeshows. They send me to Florida, San Antonio, Toronto, the moon. I wear a nametag enclosed in plastic, hanging around my neck by a string. I could strangle myself with this. Just joking. I would never do such a thing.
In Atlanta I get into a line of people, and we take an escalator up to the next floor where we half-circle to another escalator going up. When we die, this is how it will go, escalator after escalator, until we reach the floor of our convention center lined with gold. Or a hole leading down into a fiery pit. Or neither. Or both.
I’m not telling this right.
A man steps to the urinal beside me and pees without hands—very uncouth. I’m in Denver, Delaware, Duluth.
I’m in the Midwest somewhere or San Francisco. Memphis, Seattle, Tempe. I’m in New Orleans with a bag of jellybeans. I’m sitting in a kiosk or in a Turkish bath or in a taxi. I’ve just paid the fare or the person behind curtain number one and am about to step out, to push the door away and parachute down.
Quad grandé extra vanilla soy mocha with whip and sprinkles (please).
In the morning I comb my hair, I brush my teeth, I shave, I put my smile on.
I’m staying in Dallas at the Marriott Courtyard, which is just down the Freeport from the Marriott Residence Inn, which is just down the Freeport from the Marriott Mothership. Over there is the Earth, a big twirling ball of blue. Strange that I should notice such a thing.
On the 3½ hour flight, they feed us a granola bar, an 8 oz. cup of blueberry yogurt and a shiny miniature packet of raisins. Am I full? I never really know.
I slide my keycard through the slit on the door and wait for the red flicker to go green. I step away from the toilet and it flushes for me. I stick my hand beneath the soap dispenser and a glob of whitish soap like jism squirts neatly into my palm.
I’m eating a cheese steak in Philly. I’m standing on a cement ledge staring at ice patches in the Detroit River and thinking of drowning myself (not really). I’m in O’Hare. I’m in my underwear. They tell me I’ve been selected by the airport for a security check. They rope me in and wave me with a wand.
On behalf of the captain and the entire flight crew it is a pleasure having me on the flight this morning. They’re pleasured. I pleasure them.
I look out the window and oh sweet Jesus one of the engines has caught fire! (I’m only joking.) I’m in a cloud. I’m in a crowd. We circle around and go down, circle around and go down.