Wednesday, July 18, 1990

I fly to Toronto, have a few hours layover, then fly to London Heathrow for another layover, then finally I'm on a JAL (Jugoslav Air Lines) flight to Beograd.

Not counting the almost 20 hours of layovers, I am in the air a total of 17 hours.

The seats of course are cramped, my legs are sore, I'm exhausted, not sleeping well, entering into that state of hallucinatory boredom that airplane travel creates & nourishes.

The JAL plane is straight out of the 1960's Mission Impossible TV show. Service is stilted, the lighting is poor, the cabin is chilly. The engines sound different - not healthy. I can see the rivets holding the sheets of metal together to form the cabin around us.

I keep expecting Peter Graves to walk out of the cockpit door. Or the snoring bald man next to me to pull his head off like taffy to reveal Martin Landau's face.

In the darkened cabin, I keep thinking: I can see the rivets.