No matter how much I felt like trying to avoid it, I knew that I was doomed when I saw the rocket taking off in the distance. The slender pencil shape of the distant Redstone rocket that launched and misfired a mile or two away seemed to perfectly adjust to steer to my position on the clearing under the white canopy where I sat lounging upon the grass. I could feel the consternation of others of my party who being equally alarmed couldn’t believe my abject passivity to what appeared to be growing inevitability of the approaching doom. Yet they also were foolish enough to wait upon the signal of the demonstration of my own overt fear as an indicator to suggest the proper avenue of escape. Some finally took off in a variety of directions in an attempt to avoid the growing shadow of impending annihilation. Fate had applied a particularly perverse form of methodology to apply its judgement on my portion of the human ant kingdom. And though I was not one to willingly accept the vagaries of Fate’s decisive indifference, I would not be bullied by its suggested outcome attempting to easily manipulate the prerogatives of preserving my own existence.
The task of convincing ‘her’ that day seemed exceedingly prolonged and drawn out to the point that the process made me question the worthiness of enduring it through to the final outcome. These conversations wore on and I felt myself wandering for a time from the coffee counter of one store over to another coffee house cafe setting at the adjacent establishment. The extended conversation defaulted to Hitler’s boast that if he didn’t take the dangerous helicopter ride over the parade below and its accompanying cheering crowd, then who would? How its ending point fell upon the topic of matching Carolina blue plastic spoons to spaceships via the industrial process of injection molding defies any ability on my part to comprehend. I after all just found myself sitting there simply along for the ride.