11.11

Today is a palindrome, you just have to forget what year it is.

He banked hard, pulling on the flaps. He always thought it was funny that gravity pulled his hands away from where he wanted to go.

The jet flattened out and scorched its way across the sky. He pounded his foot against a pedal and the earth went rolling away underneath him. Sky traded places with earth and back again. A twitch and a slow, constant pressure and he leveled the plane again.

Someday he would crash. He spent enough time in the air that it was a statistical certainty. But not today.