Ten o'clock and we're playing cards at the dining room table. The internet cut out in the middle of our show and we hadn't yet gotten enough diversion stuffed into our brains to shut them off for the night.
I won the first hand. Does that mean we'll win the election?
Stephen lost the first hand. Does that mean we'll lose the election?
The last time we played cards was the night of the big wind storm that was supposedly the biggest wind event in... what? Fifty years? One hundred? The power had gone out and we'd played cards by candlelight all evening long. Laughing and enjoying each other's company.
After that night and for the next ten days, Oregon and California were on fire.
The human brain loves to turn serendipity into metaphor, and metaphor into omen.
If the internet is still out tomorrow, we won't be able to access the election results as they slowly, excruciatingly slowly tick in. My stomach shoots another little fight-or-flight like it's been doing these last two days.
It's my turn. I count the cards in my hand to see how many I need to pick from the deck. Stephen's studying his. If all goes as it looks now, I may win this hand.
I reach down.
Wild card.
Wild card.
Wild card.
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