{"title":"排气","authors":"St, John Fisher","doi":"10.1515/9780823273935-041","DOIUrl":null,"url":null,"abstract":"It’s now 30 years removed, but I live it nearly daily. That smell, that taste, that image of power and danger. Long ago, I had followed and succeeded with my boyhood dream. I flew. The road to my success was long and full of near failures, but I made it. Today, I smell the diesel exhaust. Filling my gas tank at some truck stop somewhere, I take in the smell, forgetting about my surroundings, and I key for the dangers no longer there. Keyed for the myriad of things I must accomplish, quickly and completely. Jet fuel exhaust fills my lungs.","PeriodicalId":373777,"journal":{"name":"Fueling Culture","volume":"1 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0000,"publicationDate":"2020-12-31","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":"1","resultStr":"{\"title\":\"Exhaust\",\"authors\":\"St, John Fisher\",\"doi\":\"10.1515/9780823273935-041\",\"DOIUrl\":null,\"url\":null,\"abstract\":\"It’s now 30 years removed, but I live it nearly daily. That smell, that taste, that image of power and danger. Long ago, I had followed and succeeded with my boyhood dream. I flew. The road to my success was long and full of near failures, but I made it. Today, I smell the diesel exhaust. Filling my gas tank at some truck stop somewhere, I take in the smell, forgetting about my surroundings, and I key for the dangers no longer there. Keyed for the myriad of things I must accomplish, quickly and completely. Jet fuel exhaust fills my lungs.\",\"PeriodicalId\":373777,\"journal\":{\"name\":\"Fueling Culture\",\"volume\":\"1 1\",\"pages\":\"0\"},\"PeriodicalIF\":0.0000,\"publicationDate\":\"2020-12-31\",\"publicationTypes\":\"Journal Article\",\"fieldsOfStudy\":null,\"isOpenAccess\":false,\"openAccessPdf\":\"\",\"citationCount\":\"1\",\"resultStr\":null,\"platform\":\"Semanticscholar\",\"paperid\":null,\"PeriodicalName\":\"Fueling Culture\",\"FirstCategoryId\":\"1085\",\"ListUrlMain\":\"https://doi.org/10.1515/9780823273935-041\",\"RegionNum\":0,\"RegionCategory\":null,\"ArticlePicture\":[],\"TitleCN\":null,\"AbstractTextCN\":null,\"PMCID\":null,\"EPubDate\":\"\",\"PubModel\":\"\",\"JCR\":\"\",\"JCRName\":\"\",\"Score\":null,\"Total\":0}","platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":null,"PeriodicalName":"Fueling Culture","FirstCategoryId":"1085","ListUrlMain":"https://doi.org/10.1515/9780823273935-041","RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":null,"ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":null,"EPubDate":"","PubModel":"","JCR":"","JCRName":"","Score":null,"Total":0}
It’s now 30 years removed, but I live it nearly daily. That smell, that taste, that image of power and danger. Long ago, I had followed and succeeded with my boyhood dream. I flew. The road to my success was long and full of near failures, but I made it. Today, I smell the diesel exhaust. Filling my gas tank at some truck stop somewhere, I take in the smell, forgetting about my surroundings, and I key for the dangers no longer there. Keyed for the myriad of things I must accomplish, quickly and completely. Jet fuel exhaust fills my lungs.
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