The bullets that were fired a few seconds later ripped open one, two, three, four, five black holes. And through one of those black holes passed a “lucky beetle.”2
2“Lucky beetles” are not a species, but an insect that alights in the exact spot where life took a different course. That spacetime in which one chooses to walk down one side of the road or the other, to leave the house or not, to say or to refrain from saying something. It’s a fraction of a second so small that only an insect can pass through it. An insect that, when it appears, parts life in two.