Gregory rolled through a cloud, swatting at his flaming pant leg, trying to put it out. Wreckage peppered the sky, bits of smoking debris leaving comet trails of tragedy for the mourning world to collect and debate over. His back was to the approaching Earth, and he didn’t care to see it looming ahead of him, the broken promise of solid ground.

Instead he stared at the sky, considering the white thumbprint of the moon in the blue expanse. Had it always been visible during the day, or was that a product of a gasping ozone layer, of a slow-roasting planet? Off to the side, he noticed a tumbling carton of cheese-flavored crackers. With a reach, he had them in his hand. Processed food, high in preservatives and reconstituted corn and corn byproducts. Once, this might have been the biggest threat to his longevity. He opened the box and chewed a handful. Free of guilt, they weren’t half bad. Making necessary exceptions for the inevitable forthcoming end to his flight, Gregory had to admit, this short interlude was one of the more pleasurable experiences of his predictable existence.

Nice scenery. Absolute comfort. Good food; and a lifetime supply.