"Yaks could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this airport before.
There could be Yaks anywhere." The cool wind felt good against his open canopy.
"I HATE YAKS" he thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated his entire cockpit, making it pulsate even as the $9 grappa circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) fear of russians after dark.
"With an M-346, you can go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.