A Paper Clip

"Nothing more than a paper clip getting blown into it, that'd do it. The whole thing would blow."
Thanks for that, mate.
Some years ago, and it was that I sat on a scantly filled domestic aeroplane, on my way to Nashville, Tennessee. Seventies orange and brown. That's what sticks in my mind the most. An airline seating decor to trump all other airline seat decors. It felt more like a small town jazz lounge than a plane cabin. I spent the better part of an hour expecting to hear a trumpet whine into full voice at any moment.
The fount of wisdom introduced himself as Eric. This is, of course, after his initial words to me were "I could tell you stuff about jet engines that would scare you senseless." A jagged spike of lightening flashed across the faceless sky out of the window. The plane jolted like a bucking horse. Thanks, Eric. He goes on to tell me that he is an engineering student at the University of Tennessee. However, what he is doing on a plane to Nashville in the middle of the night I have no idea of. He winks at me from within his rounded southern exterior, the flaxen locks on his head like a chiselled concrete mould. More lightening jumps through the window and and onto my face. Eric smiles again.
A sudden memory of a Twilight Zone television episode muscles its way into my mind, predictably doing me no favours.
Eric is a nice enough guy, sure. He's dressed smartly. And he doesn't really push his nature onto me. But in a plane that has almost as many flight staff as it does passengers, I did start to wonder what dice roll of fate had sat the two of us right next to each other. S.H.