The last man i speak to.

I flew home from montreal. A 7 Hour flight.
On the plane one is confronted with the distinct possibility of death or horrific injury.

do i put my life vest on if we crash into a mountain

Of the 2 options on the inflight safety card, i would chose 'B

I was sat next to this man. If the plane had crashed, it would have been him with whom i shared my last moments. i wondered if he would have helped me on with my lifejacket, as i’m no good at knots. He looked so peaceful as we sped through the air at 40,00 feet, in a lump of steel, so i didn’t wake him to ask. As the plane plumpeted toward the atlantic i would have taken his hand and put it to my chest and told him about sheena and whispered some lyrics by Hall & Oates into his ear.

i wonder if he belongs to the mile high club. Christ you can hardly swinging a cat in there, let alone get a hand job. If he had asked me i would have turned once again to Hall & Oates…”And I’ll do almost anything, that you want me too…but i can’t have sex with you in an aeroplane toilet as we face impeding death…i can’t go for that…no can do.”

i struggle to feel romantic in a piss covered cubicle at 40,000 ft