The Fog of Flying


I'm flying across the international date line, but I've lost track somewhere along the line of whether I'm heading east or west. My stomach tells me that it's 3 a.m., but the watch that I'm just turning backward says it's really 6 p.m. Drew Barrymore seemed to have accompanied this same piece of chicken some days ago, and the people in the next row might be Asian-Americans or just Americanized Asians. The Far West is to the east of me now and the Far East is to the west.

It's at just this moment that I realize that...

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