This boredom and Bernadette, they are to each other as piano keys are to strings. A mechanism doomed for reaction, beginning with one percussion. It begins a simple melody, one second to each key, seconds short and seconds long, seconds nonetheless. Those that are called tempo, a measure of a moment. To measure a moment rests on your tongue, Bernadette’s taste rested on none. No measure is a measure, congratulations if you have convinced yourself that nothing in this world exists. The unsteady hand of a timid child winds the jack in the box as the notes sound uneven and to no measure. But those notes themselves are lone moments. To measure a moment. How long do you consider a moment?