I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
Single-serving sugar and cream. Single pat of butter. The microwave cordon bleu hobby Kit. Shampoo-conditioner combos. Sample-package mouthwash. Tiny bars of soap. The people I meet on each flight... They're single-serving friends. Between takeoff and landing, we have our time together. That's all we get.
An exit-door procedure at 30.000 feet. Mm-hmm. The illusion of safety.
We have no great war. No great depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives.
Listen to me. You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen. We don't need him! Fuck damnation, fuck redemption. First, you have to know, not fear... Know that some day, you're gonna die.
— You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?
— So you can breathe.
— Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you take giant panic breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It's all right here. Emergency water landing, 600mph. Blank faces. Calm as hindu cows.
— That's um... That's an interesting theory.
This is how I met Marla Singer. Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.