Igar flog jag igen, och jag hatar det. Inte for miljons skull, den skiter jag i*. Det ar dodsradslan. Innan jag ska flyga definierar jag alla manniskor jag moter, utifran vad de kommer att saga om mig till tidningarna nar jag dott;

Stadaren pa hostelet: " The girl who died stayed at hotel I work. She was very nice and left room clean and tidy. I pray for her family today.

Selfobsessed american on the roof at night: "Yeah its a bummer she died. She was real nasty. Came up on the roof and asked me if I thought the freezer was too cold for her medicin. Like I'd have a clue. I said "I don't think it's a subzerofreezer honey" but she probably just wanted a reason to talk to me cause I looked so cool. (Min Dukoral behovde ett kylskap och amerikanen sag ut som en valdtaktsman sa jag nervospratade med honom)

Indiern bredvid mig pa flygplanet: She probably saved my life. She didn't mean to, but I hid under her so she took all the damage from the crash.

Linus: Det ar verkligen fruktansvart, det finns inte ord. Hon var min flickvan, mitt allt. Nu ar hon dod. Det borde ha varit jag i stallet. (tror jag egentligen inte han skulle saga men i min fantasi sager han sa)

* ett skoj.


Ps: Det gar tydligen inte mobilblogga, och det gar sisadar med bilder, men det kommer tids nog!