Every Time I'm On A Plane Flying Somewhere

I think of death and dying at least once so I look around try to spot a child I am so much older than who innocently galivants up and down the center aisle annoyingly with the privilege of a fool without a clue as to what their about to lose while the flight attendants paint their face dutifully masking the fear coursing through their veins because it's their job to die with a smile that RyanAir employees are expected to wear in an attempt to comfort those of us who have yet to have a conversation with death about how it will feel to no longer exist suddenly in a fleshy mortal body uncomfortably strapped to a yellow and blue seat 10,000 kms above the ocean on the way from Santa Cruz de Tenerife to Berlin