Point of departure

No one is happy in the airport. That man has invented machines to fly is incredible in itself, that nearly everyone is able to fly anywhere in the world at relatively little cost is practically a miracle. What does it say about the modern world that we not only fail to appreciate this, but have managed to make flying a miserable experience?

At some point during the flight an obese man in the seat next to me dozes off. Or at least I think he does, it doesn't look as if he is breathing. I'm not sure what to do. I suffer from a strange psychological condition (that I have yet to find a name for) in which I convince myself that sleeping people are actually dead. I tell myself that as long as he has life insurance (and it is his own fault if he does not) his poor wife (if he has one) will will be better off with him out of the picture, and with this happy thought in my head I doze off too.

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