Our hero hurtles toward his destination at an alarming speed. The question in his mind: will the trajectory be too sharp for reentry, incinerating him in moments, or too shallow, bouncing him back into space, without enough fuel to return...
...now, the perils of reentry behind him, his heat shield intact, our hero faces the final challenge of landing. Like they told him in flight school: taking off is optional, landing is required. As the buildings turn from dots, to specs, to structures rushing towards him, his reflexes deftly maneuver the craft though passing air traffic and toward the landing site. The final moment is out of his hands: will the retro-rockets fire, or will he smash into the ground. He says a silent prayer remembering the rocket was built by the lowest bidder. The air rushes past him, and then...
...with a satisfying punch, the rockets fire, the ship slows and our hero's journey comes to its gentle end.
In other words: on my way to dinner!
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