An indolent travelogue

I am sitting in my chair
watching the world go 
round. Quite literally. The
tv's tuned in to one of 
those space station apps
that shows what's below
as it traverses the Earth
at an orbital inclination
of 51.6°. Currently we're
over the Caribbean — or
so the minimal closed
caption commentary tells
me since it's night & the
screen is black with only
an occasional splash of 
lightning, no populated
areas, & it's impossible to
tell if there are pirates 
anywhere beneath. Then
Johnny Depp must have
decided that it's time for 
a commercial break, & the
screen suddenly fills with
white billowy clouds & a
visible countdown that im-
plies "this is what you'll be
getting for the next 59 . . .
58 seconds. But if you've
paid for the premium feed
you'll keep on getting a
black screen until we're 
over Venezuala unless 
Hogsbreath's testerone-
enhanced bum boys are
bombing the shit out of
some narcoterrorists &
you might see the occ-
asional explosive flash."