Bud Mitchell lay stretched out in his flight suit on the well-worn light blue couch. “I really hate this color,” he thought, as if he’d never noticed it before.
He was due at the airport in three hours and was trying to keep that out of his head.
The poster tacked to the wall directly across from the offending furniture displayed the reason for Mitchell’s nerves. “Hiram’s Park Airshow August 11 12 13” said the large red letters across the top.
Today was the last day. Yesterday morning, Mitchell had lost his lucky hat. Yesterday afternoon, he’d barely survived a harrowing spin in an out-of-control airplane when a control cable snapped. He could only imagine what sort of hideous trouble he’d get into when he took off today.
As the headlining demonstration, Mitchell couldn’t afford to pull out for a reason as nebulous as “superstition”. Instead, he tried put off leaving for as long as possible, cursing at the sofa the entire time.
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