Hell can be no worse than that flight. Crammed in the middle seat beneath the dim overhead light and the stale air blasting from the vent. Trying not to keel over and cry my eyes out in the middle of this airplane. Being hot and tired and more miserable than I know how to deal with. Looking over the guy next to me and out the window onto a dark planet and the lights of thousands of other people with their own problems and their own loved ones to miss. Seeing for the first time that if you go high enough the lights of the city at night look the same as the stars. And seem just as distant and uncaring. On that flight my life seemed like everything and nothing all at once, and I still haven't decided which was harder on me. When we landed I wished we had crashed. Sometimes I still do.