Prologue. Part 1.

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It has to be done. I must go. I am going. To hop on a plane is plain wrong: it is too hasty. But it is a means. It's a pollutant. And it's security gone bonkers. Take off your belt, shoes and empty all emotion onto the slipway. Coming through nearly as creation made me. Not quite: the offence would cause the blue shirts to gag or shift restlessly. Point and stare at a thing of no significance. Arms stretched high. Upon this airport, landside/airside division, I am asked strictly to abase myself and add another crucifixion to their catalogue of fears.

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