My old cassette deck is playing a Sevilla match from '03 that kept my boys up past thik ase, laughing at my groans. The table now makes me think of my students—some players are all flashy technique, but the ones who win you things are like Athletico, built on inherited practice. As for these late kickoffs, who gets hurt? The fathers trying to shush their giggling teenagers.

Recording a morning rain in the hills, my old cassette deck hissed and ate the tape. Thik ase, even the river knows some banks must shift, but I think of the family whose field is now water. The question isn't really when the water will rise, but who is left without any high ground to stand on.