Sure, sex is great, but have you ever had the ghost of an airline pilot jump out at you from the overhead bin when you check on your luggage at 30,000 feet, midway to your uber-normie family vacation? It is transcendent. We will not be taking questions.
This is the story of Flight 401. Come for the ghosts, stay for two double-dog-dare first-class priests, the Spanish-teacher sweatshirt monster, the one tiny issue with early autopilot, hamster-tube airplane pipes, Quantum Leap in a failing cockpit, and Patrick’s unfirm grasp on holiday dates.
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