FLYING
To get from Houston to Galveston (50 miles), my cousin picked us up in a twin-engine Sesna, instead of the Mercury Sable we thought he would. It wasn't the fact that we were putting our lives in the hands of a guy we haven't seen in 18 years and it wasn't the Gulf storm bouncing us around that had me sweating bullets. What freaked me out was the simple fact that I couldn't understand one damn word the Texas air traffic controllers said. There was not a single consonant spoken.