The plane, flying into a storm. The lightning, picking out the faces of the other passengers. The haunted look in their eyes chills his bones. For the briefest of seconds he grasps hold of something else, but then it slips free. The hostess brings something to wash down his sleeping pills.
Drug induced sleep is better than no sleep at all.
Waiting for the medication to do its job, he reads the the Wall Street Journal edition for the 1st week in November. Just before sleep takes hold over him, he takes one last look out the window, making sure that the wing is, indeed, still attached to the plane. He is carried away on a wave of blackness. Lightning flashes, showing the faces of those around him in stark portrait. Clouds are whipped around them, like ghosts in the night sky.