Tension was the seventh passenger
on the six-seater plane.
There she was with her hands on her hips,
standing ready to board.
Her threadlike lips pursed into a thin callous smile.
All the while she stood there,
she tossed her thick ominous hair behind her shoulders,
and took a deep dark drag off her cigarette.
Nobody invited her.
Nobody wanted her there.
Yet, she forced herself onto the Skyhawk.
An unwanted party guest,
she sat haughtily in her seat,
ready for take-off with her belt fastened securely and
her legs crossed seductively.
Pressing herself on us like a humid night in