This was my leg. I lined up on Runway 6 among a bevy of runway lights; it was late, and we were light. As I pushed up the power, the visual effect came to resemble a science fiction movie where a kaleidoscope of lights rush past you as you travel backward or forward in time. It was like being shot down Broadway at night. Cleared to 4,000 feet, we climbed at 6,000 feet a minute, making my “gear up, yaw damper on, flaps up, afters,” one long, slurred sentence. I flew this leg just east of the coast of Florida at 12,000 feet on a dark, smooth, cloudless night — an invitation for contemplation.