Later. Oh boy, how exciting this was. A little lab in California, and I was allowed to be a part of it. They had built a ship, tall and black, like an old fashioned rocketship. I wondered why it was pointed at the top. Why should it be pointed? I guess to provide the spectacular view, since partway down from the top the whole thing was made of glass, and that was where we sat inside the thing. A glass walled dome with a small black cap on top, a place inside of which we would be witness to a spectacular view. Up we soared, and it was night. The moon was bright and full, and everything was illuminated in this silver phosphorescent kind of glow. California was visible way way way down there, and clouds were silver phantasms in the sky. Stars were everywhere. We flew very fast, and oh man, how we maneuvered. Loops and rolls and upside down and just FAST! Through clouds, and near the earth, through canyons, over cities. Everything painted in glowing blues and grays and blacks. It was exhilarating. Just joyful and buoyant, and fantastically happy.
Later we had to give the thing up to the investors, and I knew I would never fly in it again. I started crying and couldn't stop. Joy had become sadness, deep misery and hopelessness. It translated to worldwide catastrophe. I stood in a small bathroom in a shelter an watched through a tiny window. Outside it was a wasteland. In this little place, I was safe, but imprisoned. I cried and cried, and couldn't stop. Survivors started to accumulate at our little lab, and Julie was there. I knew her sister Elizabeth had died in the calamity. I saw her approach, and when we made eye contact, she started to cry. I ran to her and embraced her and sobbed and said, "I'm sorry about Elizabeth, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."