Cruising at the Airport in Dave’s Gray Car

by William Nesbitt

City limits.  The city always limits.  There is an airport just outside the city limits of Thomasville.  It has one runway, no air traffic controller, no security, no fences, nothing.  Dave has a gray hatchback compact shit wagon that is like riding in a clown car.  You can see the runway from the road and just drive down the side, up the hill, and right over to it.  It has blue lights that slowly arch up into the air at the end.  Dave drives us over there sometimes late at night with the headlights off and we get on the runway and drive down it like we are a plane taking off.  If the moon isn’t out, we can’t see anything, just sailing through black nothingness.  Running cool and smooth and clean as the surface of a dream.  When those last three or four blue lights rise up, it feels for a few seconds that we are actually flying.  The flesh defers, peels back, drops off and we became what we were before we were.  At this moment, The World is still possible.


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