I hate flying. Every damn flight seems like Russian roulette to me. Every turbulence very close to death. I always wonder when I see a plane in the sky: soft and straight, almost cloudy. And at the same time I imagine how many people right now are praying with sweaty hands in their laps that the damn thing won’t suddenly crash. The worst flight of their lives… again. Every flight is turbulent from the inside and calm from the outside. Life is no different. Often turbulent, always queasy, just before the crash. And seen from the outside, a straight line, even if you are on the verge of a crash…again.