Yes, it’s true. Every detail, every fact. I’m a well travelled man with a well informed body, a sharpened mind. And, like you, I have a keen eye for beauty.
Who else can say it? Say that they have flown over the dark forests of Europe ? That they have watched the volcanoes erupt on Java. That they have peered into the heart of Paris
All these things I carry in my experienced eyes - An Atlas of the skies.
My suit, as you can see, is pressed and worn to perfection. My three-button navy-blue carried like the cloak of a king, closed over a white shirt and tie. A pair of black shoes shine under my straight, single front-pleat trousers, and my styled pilot cap rests on my head, casting a short black shadow. You know this to be true. You feel it in your heart and your blood quickens as you gaze upon my gallant form. Don’t be ashamed, it is not your fault - it could never be your fault. Beauty has no fault.
My scent is golden and my lips are jewels. Women have tasted them from London to Cairo
It is true that I spend my time in the airport; that I walk along the concrete buildings and rest upon the plastic seats of the passenger lounge. Asterion in his labyrinth, you have passed me before and you will again. I lift my left leg and bring it to rest upon the surface of the right.
For two hours before a flight I sit in my pilot's chair, adjusting every sense to that environment; the cool glass of the flashing screens running under my gentle fingers and it is easy for me to become hard. As I press myself against the control-panel I think about what it is to be in that seat, the weight of the vessel and all the responsibility a man like me must take with him into the skies.
But then who could do it but me? You know this. You trust me already - that’s how trustworthy I am. I speak and you listen. We’re a well oiled machine, you and I.
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