After testing that the thermal had also been connected, I affixed our little coffee exploder to the burner, and very soon was sipping it while sitting before the boxes on the door-table in the loungeroom, their wooden surfaces slightly sprayed by rain dust. I’d forgotten sugar, but enjoyed the bitterness of the coffee anyway, its caffeine undercurrent slowly increasing as I sat there, by the empty burner space, scrolling through the downloads on our reader, searching for a wire, interconnection. Signals missing, like airport arrivals boards, flickering in the irradiated impact of your Avalon departure. Depp rain impact as I scrambled three short notepad macros, one to you, another to me and the third to, simply, us. I let the battery burn down to nothing, thinking of the cover of Daydream Nation, Richter’s burning candle, melted down to nothing. The grounds in my cup glowing there, on the table, next to the first air-pressed crates of LPs. Afternoon dark. Another cassette storm. Smoke.