Breezy Chair

The balloons were a good start. They gave the chair that nice floaty feeling. If my joints weren’t creaking I might still be tying the buggers, but this one’s better anyhoo.

I put my cane in the holder and chucked my newspaper under the tungsten-felt cushion. The Rocket Rascal and BBQBuddy would be torched by liftoff. With a whistle they zoomed to the edge of the driveway, the BBQBuddy blurting out a tinny “Yeehaw!”.

The reclining lever stuck. I reached over with my other arm and gave it a tug; the seat rumbled to life under my ass. Shoulda oiled it first.

Thrusters coughed, she lifted in the air. I rocked on her, testing the pitch and yaw. Nelly looked up from her SmartKnit needles and waved as I rose. I programmed the darn things myself and she still made ugly yarn messes every time.

50 metres in the air, I read the sports section, dipping to dodge a sparrow. The hands of Daddy’s watch read 4:57. I punched in the co-ordinates for Daisy’s Diner.

If the rockets hit 80% I could still make the Early Bird.

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