Well, I guess that clears that up.

A few Guinnesses later, Hector and I stand on the driveway gazing at the night sky as a military jet flies northbound from the sea and over our heads. We’re in the middle of a conversation. Hector’s been explaining something vaguely technical about aerospace-related topics.

Hector: “High altitude, low pressure.”

Me: “What exactly do you mean by low pressure?”

Hector: “Not a lot of pressure.”

Me: “I see.”