After some squirming she rolls over and sits spread atop, knees bent, facing Ziggy's shuttered visage.
Coursing in circles around the accelerator the streams of billions rush past each other. Occasionally and rarely an electron slams directly into a positron. The resulting explosion while invisible to the naked eye is nevertheless a display of spectacular pyrotechnics. The aim of this collision is to create new particles hitherto unseen. The art is only incidental.
Loudly - "Ohh Ziggy"
Whispered - "Ohh God"
Exultations, visceral and archetypal. Exaltations, one and universal. The silence that follows will soon be punctured when Susan looks over to the clock on the night table and registers in order the digits 8, 1, and 4.
"Oh shit, I'm gonna be late again. I can't be late again. Fuck."