What was the flight like? It was, like, Chopin Prelude #13. Like an empty flying home, with not too many inhabitants. Quiet inhabitants. Hardly anyone who made a sound, hardly anyone who raised an eyebrow during two air turbulence interruptions. I suppose the air crew were the most animated. It was an air stewardess sitting on her seat at the back of the aircraft, food tray balanced across her knees, slowly eating her congee (it was too salty), who gave me a smile as I passed. It was empty seats and window shades pulled down as we passed blindingly bright daylight. Or you could say as daylight passed us by. It was neat polo tees and smart casual pants and shoes. It was visibly aged air crew going about the rounds in English and Mandarin. A pen, laid across a notebook. It was a morning traffic cab ride, a trusty bag that has seemed to go everywhere with me recently, a crowded check-in queue and a familiar face in front of me who I did not speak to. Ravel – Pavane pour une enfant. The empty man in the vacant seat. The calm before the storm.