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Since my hubby, Ian, made decent enough money, I reasoned, here's my chance to taste entrepreneurship, put my rusty MBA through its paces, and eventually work up the nerve to commence my dream concept: a telescope-mobile. First night in Dyson's house, under the fingernail clipping of a waning crescent, Dyson moved a bureau from his bedroom into the spare. According to Manny's flight plan, they'd fly low up the coast to do a pier hop: from Pacific Beach to Huntington to Santa Monica, then head east back to Arizona, landing at Scottsdale Airpark. [...]once Manny and Ian lost their visual horizon, they also lost all sense of up or down, spinning or diving, and most likely entered a graveyard spiral, not wasting their final fistful of seconds on fear or futile prayer.