Just before a large event, there’s a small event.
Before the explosion, they heard a strange noise and paused the meeting.
Before the car accident, your favorite song was on the radio.
Before his heart stopped, he was ordering lunch.
One morning there was an earthquake in New York. No one expects them there, but even when you’re someplace that expects earthquakes, they’re difficult to believe. The sensation is inhuman, calling too much into question.
The first time I heard the earthquake siren in Mexico City it was just a test, the annual test, but a few hours later it sounded again, seriously. Just out of the shower, I stood naked as cabinets opened and closed, wondering if this was my last living moment, but no buildings fell. In the street everyone seemed rattled; we looked straight at one another with clear, silent pleading.