I was to travel to the moon. The arrangements had been made; I was a member of an astronaut crew. I worried about the takeoff, the G force. Fuck it, others had survived and I would too. What provisions are made for pissing and shitting? A system of tubes I guess. We’re all in the same boat. I was going to the moon! Zero gravity in the craft. The dutiful floating about, maybe drink a bubble or two. But on the surface there’d be enough to stand on the chalky, silty surface. I’d be on the fucking moon. I felt a stab of terror. On the moon! A big cold rock in the bleak black of space. To get back home I’d have to trust the machine, this precious tangle of rods and bolts devised by hapless man.