Back in New York in time.
Tomorrow the plane will go.
But I arrived at two in the night.
Even the Broad Way was deserted.
Fumes rising in the middle of the street.
Like smoke from the hell.
I walk with my suitcase in the middle of
the street - not to be robbed or shot.
I come to the street with Empire State Building.
A deserted skyscraper. All dark.
The plane home starts next day.
However as the only propeller plane, it gets some
problems with the spark plugs. The pilot himself
takes a ladder and starts to check all spark plugs.
Then after an hour we start. Only to be informed that
Halifax on New Foundland is out of electricity for
the petrol pumps.
So the plane lands on a small airport for private planes.
The village gives us all their eggs for us to eat.
The plane is refuelled and starts with full trottle
on the very short runway - and makes it just and just.
The jump to Iceland is significally longer than the
official from Halifax. Shall we make it?
But her I am.
