New York To Paris In 90 Minutes. Can This Startup Make It Happen?

The stewardess tightens my five-point harness and straps an oxygen mask to my face. I try to peek down at my Rolex, but the headrest restricts my neck movement to reduce the risk of internal decapitation when we push 5 Gs.

"I can already taste the foie gras at Allard," I say to my mistress, but she is shaking uncontrollably as her breathing exercises fail to stave off a full-blown panic attack.

The stewardesses do not provide information on emergency procedures and there does not appear to be an emergency exit.

I pass out almost instantaneously on take-off, but am quickly revived by the sonic boom as we break the sound barrier. Approaching Mach 5, the view out the window is surreal as oxygen and nitrogen are separated into a brilliant plasma coating the wings.

The vibrations are difficult to describe, but they seem to relax my bowels so that I understand why we were ordered not to eat for forty-eight hours prior to the flight.

The pilot executes a barrel roll that exerts seven times the force of gravity and I am unconscious again.