Why does it take so damn long to get anywhere these days? First we were headed for San Francisco, now we’ve been rerouted and are scheduled to crash in Washington; O.K., fine, but the layover in Denver really seems excessive. The new pilot says we have to make the stop to offload corpses and pick up more terrorists, but the plane isn’t that crowded and the current terror crew seems to be doing well enough without reinforcements. Anyway, we’re stopping, and we have to stay on the plane, which leaves a lot of time for the passengers to mill around and get chatty, show off pictures of their grandchildren, complain about how the airlines don’t even bother to give you a real meal anymore. Finally we’re in the air again, thank God, and we seem to be heading in the right direction, but then we veer off toward New York. Do these guys know where they’re taking us, or are they just winging it? Soon we’re plunging down between the skyscrapers and into a tunnel, flying alongside a subway train. Some other people on the plane have started to get a little anxious, and they’re waving their arms out the windows, yelling and holding up signs that say “HELP US,” but the subway riders just roll their eyes and look away. Whatever. Wake me when we get there.