I had a dream the other night that I was flying. The pilot said he was experienced and a trainer of other pilots, which made me feel better. I sat in the cockpit just behind him. He looked tired. I asked him about his work week and he said he was on his sixth eleven-hour shift in a row. He gave me a pill to help with my anxiety and I took it. We took off and the pilot flew through the twilight sky at an altitude of about a hundred feet for a long time, through trees, around buildings, and under bridges. I didn’t mind, probably on account of the pill he gave me, which was making me feel lovely and drowsy, but another passenger complained about the erratic flying and the pilot obliged the complainer by beginning to ascend. As the plane climbed I grew drowsier and I slipped into a deep sleep. Hours passed, but when I awoke we were still hours away from our destination. Then I looked over at the pilot and he was asleep! My drowsy drug-fueled pleasure lingered for a moment and then the panic set in as I realized what was happening. We were going to crash. But then I thought that it would probably be a survivable crash, because the plane was still in perfect working order, and when the pilot awoke, he would probably be able to land somewhat safely. Then I woke up, and realized I had survived yet another plane crash dream.