Instinct

When Bruce Willis got on the plane, I was apprehensive.

I mean, Bruce Willis doesn’t do “safe” or “relaxing”. When he‘s around bullets get fired, and things explode. I just wanted to make my connecting flight in Minneapolis, I wanted no part of it.

I chided myself afterward, the notion’s ridiculous. The man’s an actor, nothing more, and I’d equated him so much with the characters he played that his very presence was enough to unsettle me.

Now, handcuffed to my seat, a gun to my head, I’m trying not to hyperventilate and reminding myself; learn to trust my instincts.