Author David Rhodes
The 747 coursed through the night sky toward Salt Lake City International Airport. A little over half of the people on board would stay in Salt Lake City, perhaps coming home from a business trip, or visiting a relative, while others would depart only to catch connecting flights. Most of those on the plane and in the terminal below had flown before, and became accustomed to its normality, and its frequency. And while America’s terminals were alive with fliers who were anxious to get to their gates, alive with strangers who were obviously up to no good (keep your hands on your wallets, please), sometimes alive with a chaos that could only be created by juggling so many flights, the general ambiance during all the activity was calm, routine, and second nature. After all, thousands of flights were in the air every day, all without incident.
A man in a gray suit sat in a window seat in first class, staring out at the night sky and its sprinkling of stars. He was returning from a business trip to Denver, where he had paid a prostitute a hundred dollars for sex; tonight, he would be returning home to his wife and kids like it had never happened. He glanced over at two very wealthy-looking women on the other side of the plane, and they raised their noses, glaring back disdainfully. “Bitches,” he muttered. (more…)