The Death of Air

Rolando Martinez piloted the plane like a banshee out of a sticky Tijuana swamp. He was the first Mexican to ever fly a plane, and was given the Martin Luther King Jr. certificate of Justice for Trailblazing! (MLK was the closest thing to a trailblazing Mexican, it seems). Martinez wore this certificate proudly on his sombrero to show his joy at being so honored. Unfortunately, the sombrero fell over his eyes and stuck to his face. "Argh! Mi sombrero es stucko on mi cabeza!" Old Richard Lexington chuckled from the copilot seat. "Got you good, amigo! I superglued it, so it would stay on your head the whole journey."

Martinez gaped in horror: "You didn't need to do that. I would have kept it on anyway. I was to wear it to show my joy of being the first Mexican trailblazer ever, but now I can't see. You will have to fly the plane!"

Lexington's jaws dropped in fear. "I'm blind! I can't fly planes anymore."

"Then why are you my copilot?"

Lexington beamed in pride. "Do you see this shirt I'm wearing?"

"No. My sombrero is over my head. Do you see it?"

"No. I'm blind. But I know what it says."

"What does it say?"

"It says that I'm a trailblazer for being the oldest person to be copilot...and there's a picture of Martin Luther King, who is the closest us old people have to being a trailblazer."

"That's really great. Congratulations!"

"Gracias, Amigo!"

They shared a look of friendship, albeit blind friendship, and waited for the northerly winds and the puffy clouds to provide the plane a blanket forged from the whispers of eternity, for all was dark but the light of their trailblazing friendship: the first old person and Mexican to ever be friends.

Cue trophy of Martin Luther King Jr. hugging a mirror.