I stayed up all night watching videos of plane crashes. They’re allowed on YouTube. So long as it’s clean and gore-free, all kinds of sadistic voyeurism can be uploaded.

There was one where a 747 starts to fall near a motorway. It tumbles through the sky like a plastic figurine thrown by a giant toddler. It begins to right itself almost just in time, I guess 20 meters off the ground. It’s too late. The plane neatly disintegrates into a bloom of lurid orange flame. I guess everyone died. I took a sip of my chocolate milk.

I don’t believe in aircraft. It’s the single greatest troll ever done. Giant metal birds clinging to the sky. Someone’s been having us on. I’m sure of it. It’s mad. It doesn’t make any sense. And so I guess they can’t be real people, on real holidays, or real business trips, or visiting real parents or real lovers, or serving real overpriced sandwiches and inadequate measures of wine and spirits in real tiny plastic bottles, or accompanying their cello in a real spare seat, or watching endless first episodes of real mediocre sitcoms, or reading in-flight magazines, and dreaming of where to go next. They just can’t be real people  because it’s too mad. I take another sip of my chocolate milk.