Somebody’s going to die. If I don’t do it, someone else will. Or maybe we both will. I’m good with that.
Stuck on a plane, sitting on the ground for six hours, the air conditioning off, the sun baking us like eggs on a sidewalk. I feel helpless and angry. Killing a fool will help, if only to open the goddamn door. There doesn’t seem to be any other way to exit this rolling microwave.
The toilets are overflowing. I can smell it.
Who’s the idiot in the airport tower holding us here? He deserves my grip round their neck.
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