Road Notes: The Thin Air Over Cleveland

I've got an arm that's much colder than the other arm and that could be due to razors along skin or sunfires bellowed by Satan right into the creaky, leaky window of this old jet airplane or it could be the rum playing the gin in a rugby scrum in my bloodstream, or it could be my thoughts of my friends having a baby next week while I'm seven miles high over a soon to be war-torn world causing me this mental affliction, or it could just be something,

something,

spooky.

At this altitude -- cold arm, leaking window, bloodstream scrum and shivering drink aside, everything is spooky.

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