The flight to Beijing has been delayed for three wholesome hours. Beijing has a storm, rain, thunder, lightening and a chance of another human blunder. For so many flight delays and cancellations between Beijing and Shanghai, five hours ride on bullet train becomes a calculable preference especially in a storm day like this. I decide to fly.

The first booked flight was cancelled. Then, I booked the second one. Five hours train ride has become torturous, like a boredom slowly dragging into abyss. The thought of it scares me. Two hours in sky is an excitement even though hours waiting at the airport is unavoidable. I am excited.

The flight is delayed as everyone expects. Passengers are calm. A Chinese girl explains to a handsome white young fellow why is the delay. Couple of days unshaved, the young fellow is unimpressed. He just wants to fly away. Unpredictability is annoying, but not for me today. I want surprise.

Three hours of delay has gone fast, boarding started. Once in the past, I had fears about flying. I am curious where that fear comes from, and how that fear feels like in a free fall. Music always entices me, taking me to somewhere else, and I am always attracted to music, following her to wherever she goes. The song listening now is a Russian 1970 film music, re-recorded through a vinyl player. The noticeable scratching of the player's needle on the vinyl's surface draws a nostalgic myth in the woman's other-worldly dreaming voice. I feel two lifes in one parallel.