So my dad attended a little shindig last Friday, a reunion for anyone who has ever flown faster than the speed of sound. He explained it: "They're gona line
up some nice Gripens on the runway and, and they're gona fly one or two right by us, like
Bbbrrrrrrrrrr, and then we're all gona have a cocktail and TALK NONSENSE."
a
INT. Runway Warehouse - LATE EVENING
Two middle-aged men are standing next to a plastic tablecloth
covered snacks table, facing outwards, holding half-empty
(half-full?) highball glasses of flattening beer, warmed by
grizzly man hands. One of the men every now and then chews a
cocktail weiner on a stick from the nearby table.
a
ONE MAN
Remember that time we flew
faster than the speed of sound?
up some nice Gripens on the runway and, and they're gona fly one or two right by us, like
Bbbrrrrrrrrrr, and then we're all gona have a cocktail and TALK NONSENSE."
a
INT. Runway Warehouse - LATE EVENING
Two middle-aged men are standing next to a plastic tablecloth
covered snacks table, facing outwards, holding half-empty
(half-full?) highball glasses of flattening beer, warmed by
grizzly man hands. One of the men every now and then chews a
cocktail weiner on a stick from the nearby table.
a
ONE MAN
Remember that time we flew
faster than the speed of sound?
