There are actually 68 days left (two months and seven days) until change occurs.
Trillian: We will be restoring normality as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway. Thank you.
Trillian: Probability factor of one to one. We have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything you still can’t cope with is therefore your own problem.
Mal: Well you’re holding my mechanic in thrall – and Kaylee, what the hell’s going on in the engine room? Were there monkeys? Some terrifying space monkeys maybe got loose?

Okay, the above doesn’t actually count toward writing. And because my brain is refusing to actually settle on something (monkey-mind – or space monkey-mind), I’ll resort to a writing prompt from Writer’s Digest

I have never done anything unpredictable, but that changed today when I woke up, packed a bag, went to the airport and randomly bought a ticket to __________. (Write a story that follows this line.)

…I bought a one-way ticket to Albuquerque. There I rented a car and drove south down I-25 to Truth or Consequences to the Spaceport America location. There, I intended to purchase a ticket to the exclusive Virgin Galactic lower-orbit flight.
“Sir, that’s just not possible,” the girl behind the dark glass reflective counter said. Her chestnut colored hair was held back in a neon blue plastic clip, which matched the piping on her black body suit. The uniform seemed very 1970s to me.
“You do operate a low-orbital flight, correct?”
“We will, in about three years.”
“Really. And what am I to do until that time?”
She raised a sculpted eyebrow at me. “Hang out?”
“In the spaceport, like some hitchhiker?” I’d have to buy a towel and stop shaving. I’d have to get ‘froody’ as they say. “I don’t think so.”
She seemed slightly relieved.
“Or you could take the tour, if you’d like. I can sell you a ticket to that.”
I checked my chrono-astrograph. This era of Earth’s history would be ending soon. I’d really wanted to be off planet before the bombs fell. Nuclear explosions, as seen from space, were not to be missed. The mushroom-shaped cloud that they generate are, to me, one of the Universe’s most beautiful and are reminiscent of the origin of a star. The stuff of which we are all made. Beautiful. Except that blue plastic hair clip.
I really hated having to find my own way off planet. Maybe I could find out if the ship was complete, and if complete, I could steal it.
I reluctantly agreed to take the tour.

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