When they awoke on Sunday morning they found the sun had disappeared having been fed overnight to the hypnotists.

Expectant fear peppered their breakfast sausages as the smell of Auschwitz permeated their lavatories. Stories of the unborn became relics, country club names and golden trophies.

Arriving on the tarmac with the National Guard and Chocolate Cake they descended and handed out forks.

Staring at their past lovers’ portraits with “What Could Have Been” eyes they self-medicated with “Someday We’ll Go All The Way” minds.

Knowing hundreds of landings were left they alphabetized their bites, memorialized their pounds and landmarked at Wrigley Field.

With reckless abandon on Sunday evening their fireworks become aviators as they ran home.