"Diane, Airborne. At what the pilot unintelligibly assures us is 17,000 feet. Dozed through breakfast and, for obvious reasons, am now awake. From the remains on the mans tray across the aisle, my stab at the menu was on the money. Except they served bacon instead of sausage. Should be on the ground in thirty minutes, which will be about the time I empty my thermos, although the pilot did mention something about a storm-front up ahead. Of course, statistically, when encountering weather aloft, the odds are in your favor in a smaller plane."

"Diane, Time at this moment, seems of little importance. If, by chance, we should not pass through this incredible maelstrom, you will find [bad word] for the disposition of my worldly goods and my remains, should there be any, filed under, ‘Things [bad word] ’"