Jack is looking out of the porthole as well, but he isn't enjoying the view. He can't help but think about the things behind the glittering windows, the fighting and violence and death. He's never known it to be beautiful inside. And now that he's spent some time on the inside, it's difficult to really appreciate the beauty of the facade.

"I crashed."

He leans towards the glass, trying to pick out the debris of the flight, but they're speeding through the wrong part of the city.

"A plane crash."

Close enough. He still doesn't remember it, not exactly. And he's not exactly champing at the bit to tell Sinclair what he's inferred.