I watched the palm trees do their calisthenics as the rain lashed the restaurant window.
The flight was obviously cancelled again and so here I was, stuck in a stupid hotel as Ralph or Romeo or whatever the Hell they call him grinds up central Florida.
I gulp the whiskey instead of sip it.
Damn, it was just my luck, wasn’t it?
One thing after another. Would I ever get a break?
My phone vibrated.
Next launch window in two weeks.
Come Hell or high water, or both at once, as now, I’d be the first man on Mars yet.
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