It was dark.
Dark as the warm IPA left discarded on the sandy shores of NJ during the pitch black midnight that I saw two sweating men struggling with a paper lamp amidst the gloom.
In the wind and gloom they were stubbornly, gently attempting to keep the lamp in place for enough heat from a tiny candle to lift it free from the shore.
Time and time and time again it teetered left or right, the wind hassling the candles gleam. The lamp rising for an inch before dropping down, almost on top the life-giving flame, never long enough to take flight.
It seemed a task fit to ridicule, some content far more appropriate as a GIF online, shared to showcase the bad luck of two men called Brian. A hopeless, thankless task fit to fail.
And then it was off, with all the hopes and dreams of migration going with into the cloudy nestle of an angry god. While flits of fire danced on the mottled surface of sand below, dancers no doubt dancing for more rain.
And then each turned to the other and shook hands, telling each other their names for the first time with a smile.
Jesus Christ, please don't hit a plane