Thunder is risky. Nothing compares to the unresolved post-moment, stretching. They met on Thursday, decided on a game of cards that never happened. The sky flickered with a static suggestion. “I thought,” she paused, “you said it was fine.” One look at the sky and the conversation rewinded. Power lines hummed restlessly.

Instructions unclear: Place the fork, change the channel, forget the rest, until yesterday becomes today without explanation. Rats in the walls, scratching secrets, whispers echoing that idea. And then another flash followed.

Remember last week's dinner?! I can remember parts of it, sandwiched between interferences. But losing thunder in that shimmering distance, as always. The sandwich was good, right?