I walk home along the sea floor, where great trees of kelp move with the currents of the wind. Every ten minutes, over the horizon, loud swift submarines launch through thin water.
I think how much the land looks like Google Earth. The regularly receding ridges with their crisp edges, the uniform haze, the sun placed in the sky. Perfect and beautiful.
With my right hand, I reach to reorient my view. Maybe I will visit New York, with its textured buildings which load from foreground to background- fly between the buildings and read the restaurant reviews. Or maybe I'll spin again around Everest, crisply modeled by anonymous hands. Or look again at the place where I grew up- zoom in and try and recognise the house from the blurred shape of the roof, make out the plum tree where we had the tyre swing.
Then I remember that I am here, several thousand metres in the air, falling to my death.