Ross Gilfillan and Austin band Black Books make me want to go out into my backyard and build the skeletal underpinnings for a set of wings. I've never thought about needing wings before, but every day brings something new and this is today's surprise. I'd need some sturdy and manageable, lightweight wood, along with bags and bags of feathers. Don't care much for actually knowing what I would be doing. Any expertise in aerodynamics would be damned from my mind. We'd rely here on gumption and foolishness to put these wings together. We'd just see how it all went. We'd call up at least two or three different people who possessed hot air balloon licenses (and the balloons, of course, because one is never good for shit without the other) - a few people who would take us up.
We'd order them to stagger the height and distances of their balloons and we'd try to time it just right. We'd bring a step stool up in the basket of the first one and up we'd step, when it looked like everything was right where it needed to be - when it looked like everything was soft and bouncy below us. The wings that we were going to trust would be spread out, spanning a good length and we'd just believe in them letting us glide safely to the next balloon's basket. We'd reach it and we'd do it again, getting a little bit of windburn, with the exhilarating, pants-pissing decision to follow the music where we thought it wanted us to go.