She says: “It’s like the night sky.”

 

He says: “It’s like waves crashing.”

 

“No, it’s like evening clouds, dipped in moonlight.”

 

“No, it’s like a great tidal surge, foaming as it breaks.”

 

“It’s like I’m lying on the grass, on my back, stargazing.”

 

“It’s like I’m at sea, riding the rolling swells.”

 

“Looking up.”

 

“Looking down.”

 

“I point my arm upward and connect the stars of Orion’s belt with my fingertip.”

 

“I hang my arm downward and high-five the whitecaps with my palm.”

 

“It’s not clear enough to see the Milky Way——”

 

“And it’s too dark to see land——”

 

“——but the clouds form shapes like constellations, too. There’s a whale’s tail above the ocean waters…”

 

“——so I’m left to navigate by the North Star…”

 

“…It IS like waves crashing,” she says.

 

“…It IS like the night sky,” he says.

 

In unison: “It’s like where the heavens meet the seas.”

 

A new voice: “Sorry, dudes. Now it’s, like, tortilla chips.”