For those of you following at home, I finally got on my plane at 12 or so, the fog clearing just enough to let the plane get in from Miami. After such a long delay (we were supposed to take off at 9:53 a.m.), it was a pleasant surprise to find out our short connecting flight would occur on a Gulfstream. We anxious passengers (we noble few) all boarded the same way: our heads in a constant half-revolve, taking in our unusual surroundings. "It's like having our own private jet!," said one passenger, his voice revealing an Eastern European accent. He continued, "...Of course, if the jet was ours, it would've left on time." The plane is a sleek tube, with only a row of seats on each side, tiny little air vents coming from the side (as opposed to those unmaneuverable overhead vents airplanes often sport), and amble leg room. As we prepare to take off, the Florida sun comes through the windows, cutting a warm orange glow through the remaining fog, making the whole jet feel like the mise-en-scene of a Ridley Scott film.
I fall asleep (at last!) on the flight, waking up to the Tampa bay below. The light bends across the window, bending the shoreline with it, making the land look like a Surrealist accordian.