Four Suits In A Plain Deck Of Cards

Four Suits

Ah. Here they come.

Their custom briefcases.

Their stupid hats.

Their impeccable neatness.

It sickens me.

If I were flying a plane, I’d turn up in slippers (for decent grip on the gate’s tiles), with the inclination to take them off as soon as I touch carpet.

I would wear a shirt, under a long shirt, under a refreshing (red or grey) jacket, that acts more like a jumper. You see, it is a suggestion of layers, something deeper than my exterior first impression. I am an onion who flies a plane (also, I plan to fuck with the air conditioning).

Pants are simply optional – but would be loose, and have plenty of pockets, either for mile-high condiments or cheeses, but ultimately for hankies and stealing peanuts that I would never eat.

No hat. Ever. But I would definitely wear aviators.

I would have three assistants, who would fly the plane for me. I would be there only for emergencies (where I would just say, “Relax and die quietly.”).

I would probably sit in economy.

In the middle seat.

That would show them.


– Scott Sandwich


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