Short.

Have you ever jumped from a plane? An AIRplane? Parachute and the whole nine?

If you haven’t, you need to. There’s something completely freeing about the whole thing. The FREE fall. The FREE feet, dangling above the approaching surface. The FREE vision of the curvature of the Earth. The FREEdom to yell as loud as you want and not hear a goddamn thing.

The cost, however, is far from free. I would classify it as… luxury-level prohibitive. I mean, it’s a fifty second freefall followed by a five minute parachute-float to the ground, ending with you landing on your ass in a field.

For one hundred and fifty smackeroos. American. See what I’m saying? Damn.

The wait to fly up was lengthy though. We got to kick it out in the heat with the wasps and bees. And hordes of smoking waiters. Not the table waiting variety. They were waiting to fall from a perfectly good plane, just like us. And they smoked like chimneys. Like me. Honestly, when you’re about to place your life in the hands of the potentially meth-bent who are rolling up parachutes into a ratty back pack, you don’t give two shits about your probability of developing lung cancer.

Fuck. It.

Fuck it.