Somewhere In South America,

The plane’s wheels hit the ground with a thud bounced again then skidded to the side and finally rested securely on god’s green earth or should I say mud.

” Nothing like riding the hills and valleys of cloud banks at six in the morning,” Estephan moaned to Kal as he jimmied the small plane’s door.

” At least you didn’t make the mistake of trying to partake of a the free can of tomato juice, ” which now resided discreetly in her lap. ” Grab that bag, I got the backpacks, look…over there Leila’s here already.”

Estephan glanced out the planes window ,coming towards them was a figure walking with such a rhythmic gait she looked as if she were dancing the rumba while she nimbly navigated the runway.


This passage is based on two experiences I had with small planes-  one while hitchhiking to the Bahamas after meeting a pilot in a casino in Florida, the other  while island hopping to Key West, small planes are like riding a 67 mustang in the air!

A typical hitchhiker’s gesture


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