Hang Fire

Generally when flying I say a short, utilitarian prayer during takeoff, requesting safe passage and uneventful travels. Upon arriving intact, I give due credit and thanks.

On a recent flight home from New York I sat directly in front of an awful family: a father and his two adolescent sons, all three garrulous, abrasive and dumb. I forewent the prayer, reasoning that if the plane crashed those three would be wiped out and, plummeting, I could at least therein take comfort and find evidence of intelligent design.

I report with mixed feelings that such design takes apparently less interest in domestic air travel than it (It?) once did in Gomorrah.


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