SUPERWORLD

François V

"Attention all passengers, we'll be making our final descent to JFK International Airport, please remain seated and buckled in." The woman's voice rang out over the loudspeaker.

Thank god, François thought, even in first class, airplanes are the worst. I haven't had a smoke in forever!

The flight had been a smooth one, but rather boring. Though Remy sat next to him, the old cop mostly ignored the man whom he had once called 'friend' and instead took quite a liking to one of the younger flight attendants.

François didn't blame him, the girl was all curves and red lips, with fiery red hair and dark eyes, however, it did leave the artist a bit lonely on the 12-hour flight.

I could barely even sleep. I don't want to see the future right now, not after what happened to me in the last dream.

François had been hesitant to even use the bathroom on the plane for fear that, when he opened the door, it would blow up in his face. Remy was in a deep sleep, arms crossed against his chest and his face looking all the world like that of an unhappy guard dog.

When did he get gray hair? He's not that much older than me, and his hair used to be pitch black. Now there's a bit more salt in the pepper. I should ask him when he wakes up, I'd like to get the jump on dyeing mine before the color starts to go.

The airplane landed without any fuss and the hostess, her name tag read Cher, came over to them.

Of course, how could I forget?! That's how he lured her in, saying something stupid like 'Cher means 'expensive' in French, I hope I don't have to pay for you." What an idiot. She must be one too, she'd have to be to get lured in by that line.

In any case, the woman gently shook Remy awake, as he requested. He came out of his sleep with a great yawn and a smile.

"Good morning, mon chère, have you brought me to the...how do you say? Big Apple?" Remy said, and the girl laughed.

Disgusting, he speaks better English than me but he leans into the accent because it drives all the stupid American girls crazy!

"Yes indeed, Mr.-or should I say, Monsieur Lefèvre." The hostess giggled.

"Your French is almost as beautiful as you." Remy replied.

François slapped his companion's shoulder with a piece of paper.

If he wants to act like a dog, I'll treat him like one.

"Hey! Don't forget why we're here, I'm trying to get to the hotel as soon as possible!" François chided Remy in French.

"Calm down, you said he won't get shot for at least three weeks. We have plenty of time for extra-curricular activities." Remy replied in French.

"What did he say? Is he angry?" The hostess asked.

"Don't worry about him, he just asked me not to take all the beautiful American women for myself." Remy said in English.

The hostess giggled again and handed Remy a piece of paper with a phone number on it. Finally, the men exited the plane and entered into the airport proper.

America smells like shit and fry oil. François thought.

Everywhere around him, people of extremes passed by. People who were extremely fat, people who were extremely thin, extremely muscular, extremely poor, or extremely wealthy.

It appeared that no one in America fell on the peak of the bell curve and instead, they chose to exist at the far end of either side of said peak. Even the drone traffic in the sky was extreme. As a four-propellered, pure white drone flew over his head, François returned his attention to the ground and said to Remy: