The rest of the office remains fixated on the dying plane flickering down on video on their computer screens, screaming towards end ground – their eager stomachs in a pit, jubilation turning in on it, grinning with sharp teeth and drool. Pejui, under the hot stare of Blanket Girl, is the only one that can hear the falling pilot cry - trained for years, Special Forces, one crash, one episode of anoxia. His wife has hair that smells like peeled oranges, his daughter squints before he catches her at the end of the big orange slide at the park near their house. There is pleasant warmth cradling him now, there is clarity in this journey which ends definite, traveling in one direction gaining force. Twix’s hair around his face, her little mouth opening. Pejui can hear that the pilot still screams for it, desperately: Am I alive? But what a favourable way to go, thinks Pejui: It flew, then didn’t, but we felt it all.