They say that when you’re falling a long distance, like when you’re sucked out of an airplane at 30,000 feet, you have a lot of time to think, to contemplate life.
It’s true. Sort of.
I don’t know why it’s called “falling like a rock”. I’m doing nothing of the sort - my arms are flailing, hoping to find something to grab.
You’d think the fear of landing would drive that damn ear worm by that annoying band from my head, but no luck. I’m DJing my demise. Nice.
Is that a ski slope? No trees, awesome slope?
I might live!
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