On a plaaaaaaane, under the influence of two tiny little Xanax, every THUMP feels like a threat to my existence, my arms are pincushions, the pilot is in control, the pilot is in control, if the pilot wanted us to die he would make sure we all died, oh, oh, I drag my luggage out of Terminal B and there’s Dad in his Chevy Silverado, the radio tuned to CN…
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