Aircraft Cleaners

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And so a thick mist

descends over the airfield in a small hours of the night. Everything turns orange far off, in the glowing floodlights

All sounds die, only silence remains.



In a misty weather like this, even the airport division don't venture onto the airfield,

because the mist conjures up the spirits of former aircraft cleaners, thirsty for revenge, cussing their former employer, hovering in the air.



Only the aircraft cleaners are at work, unware of the events,

because you don't have to tell them anything, anything, anything.



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