Keeping your eyes on the road isn’t easy when the horizon hosts crackling azure nebula; when the voluminous nightglow from the planet below makes even the gargantuan industrial indicators look like so many tiny, twinkling cat eyes. I, a terrestrial chump, cannot help be taken in by it all. But I get the sense all this spacey wonder is just so much unremarkable grease pooling at the rim of a diner plate for my Star Trucker. He’s seen a couple things, that’s for sure. Taken the long way round the spiral arm to slip past security checkpoints and offload cases of booze for off-the-record cash. Seen reduced-to-clear Ginster’s wrappers glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. Hummed that Freebird solo a thousand times while waiting for the traffic to thin out near the shoulder of Orion.
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