Look up in the sky at that flying object — is it the archangel Gabriel waving a sword of judgment? Or is it Kronion Zeus with his shining magical aegis? Perhaps it’s the supernal chariot of Ezekiel’s vision?
No: it’s a solid gold helicopter, and I Bryan am its pilot. I’m hovering up here, just floating in the breeze. Now I press forward on the accelerator and cause the contraption to go faster than a leopard. The exterior is blindingly glistening with very many sparkles; and, when I land, the wind from the spinning blades stirs up dead leaves and pigeons in the ghetto. I fly all around the globe, just to show off.
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