The door opens, the curly hair dude pushes Isabel out. Gone. The guy currently spooning me in straps and harness starts pushing towards the door. A series of thoughts gun through my head faster than the calculations I do before swiping my Visacard at Victoria's Secret. Here are the five seconds between standing brave in a small airplane and hanging loose in mid air above North Shore.
"Uh-oh! Are we THAT high? No! Not closer! NO! NO, NO, NO, yes, NO, ...yes? SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK did I just do?! I'm gonna die! This is it. Goodbye.
...
...
This is fucking amazing!!!"
...
This is fucking amazing!!!"
Normally I never say fuck, but it seemed appropriate under the circumstances of plummeting from a fucking high distance towards a fucking hard ground at a fucking high speed. I wanna go again.
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