Clouds float beneath him like the vaporous veil between vacation and home. The pilot's home could be a vacation to some but as he began the plane’s descent he imagined the entirety of the cabin would be feeling the first step back into the reality of their day-to-days and not the first step forward into their escape from it. He banked left and sliced the veil open with the tip of a wing, revealing the orderly map of farmland, business districts and cul-de-sacs.
Some days the sky felt like the river Styx and he was the ferryman.
