Imagine flying without wings. Can’t? Well neither could I until I took off my seat belt, opened the door and sailed out the hatch. Snatched from slumber, other passengers joined me. Fearful, they started to curse me before the air lifted them higher than imagined possible, and they left all that behind. 

We met on the landing field, well, really in the water, each of us seated in a cup—funny, how our butts fit – the mouths seemed to accommodate each design. 

Only fitting, we thought as we munched on vegan hors d'oeuvres and thought not about what to do, but what not to do—we realized we could do anything after that jump without a parachute from a moving plane without a plan. Cares and worries dropped into the sea, swallowed by clown loaches and candy-striped plecos—bottom feeders who thrive on whatever didn’t serve us and that was plenty—we just left it there with the clothes and other socially constricting mores, walking unfettered nude and free onto the shore where the cups dropped us. 

I woke up from a delightful dream or so I thought, until I looked down and smiled.