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The airplane is so high that as I look up and down, I see the foaming heaps of cumulonimbus clouds distorted by perspective. These clouds rise from the heated ocean as if it were filled with exploding battleships. Their growth is astonishingly rapid, and they take on shapes as strange and varied as deep-sea fish, making me certain they are as dangerous to the plane as bamboo punji stakes are to a pedestrian. I nervously swallow my saliva and say, “Espresso,” to the flight attendant. The girl notices the fear (or perhaps indecision) on my face and hesitates slightly. “Espresso…
