I often wonder how long it would take someone to fly away. First of all, he’d need to plan how. How he’d fly away. With balloons tied to his collar? On a plane flight? Or perhaps he could find a way to grow wings…. Or a bird large enough to carry him on her back. Regardless, the decision would take time. Then, he’d have to decide where he’d fly away to. A tropical island of coconuts and hibiscus flowers, a fantasy land of spiralling turrets and pegasi, the dank streets of urban New York City… or someplace else entirely. And finally, when he arrives, what would he do? Travel around nomadically, or take up a job in a 1950’s American diner? He could buy a farm and breed owlbears. He could find a beautiful girl with hair like golden wires and eyes like cornflowers and tell her about his travels, but never what came before he flew away. The possibilities are endless. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think I’d fly away on steel dragonfly wings to a futuristic city of androids that run nail salons. I’d find an android with a broken heart and fix it manually, and then we’d fly away again together.