FLYING

A small plane drummed and hummed overhead, the clear sky giving the sound of the engines a hypnotic drone.
"That's flying."
"Be a bitch if it wasn't."
"No. I mean that's really flying. In touch with the sky, the clouds. Must feel near orgiastic."
"Is that what flying is, orgiastic?"
"Not all of it."
"Which bits aren't?"
"Airlines. Man that's just cattle herding. Scoop up a bunch of dumb animals from one point, dump them in another."
"Sweeping statement, again."
"Again?"
"Yea. You're a walking sweeper of statements."
He shrugged. "Maybe I am. Don't make it any less real."
"Or any realer."
"Realer?"
He copied the shrug. "Yep. Realer."
"Ok. Realer."