Bart Blog

The stewardess is doing the safety dance.

She is tired, exhausted. Nobody is paying attention. The same choreography for the thousandth time. Safety features, wall lights, exit locations, inflatable vest — a great touch over the continent.

She yawns between gestures.

The prerecorded announcement voice has scarred her identity like a needle pushed over the groove too many times.

She doesn’t listen anymore.

She is the announcement.

She is the dance.

In case of emergency none of this will help.

Okay. That’s over.

Quick start. Let’s try to sell some booze and perfume.

I hope you all die.

And I hope I die first, so I don’t have to hear your dying complaints.