It mostly looked like things I had seen before an image of the dock. The water. The sky before a storm. Birds screeching louder and louder.  Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place here. You know objects don’t just fall from the sky. What is it called when you remember something, like a bolt of lightning right between the eyes? Must be something magnetic. We are magnets for mosquitoes right now.  The one on my neck keeps going back for more. Every second turns to minute to an hour. I can feel the wind picking up. My sleeve is moving. I think my hand is twitching, I am not even sure anymore. The camera doesn’t blink. Behind me an umbrella flies off and hits the cameraman. He lets out a yelp. Go find the balance, steady, concentrate. Focus, Breathe in, Breathe out, Left right, Up, down. This is great, you’ve got real fish in there. Move back on your line. Send me a picture. Wide awake. Dead quiet. What day is this? Feels like Thursday. One of those days with an R in it. Life can hinge on the smallest thing. Do you read me? Look at the face from, like, behind. From the back see what’s holding it up. The camera’s rolling. Forget the vibe. Lose that. Drop the veil.