It feels real. The Commander recognizes the room. The patrons’ blurred faces produce a muffled chatter. The rich scent of brewing coffee permeates the air– it smells like home.
“You sure it’s safe?” asks his wife from across the table. She is perfect, as always.
“No,” he wished he’d said. His spacesuit is tattered and hangs on his weary body.
Sunlight accents the fear and wonder in her eyes. “Whaddya think it is, up there?”
“Heaven... Hell.” Outside is dark and cold.
“I know I can’t talk you out of this.”
His laugh ends in a dry cough. “I’m sorry.”