A Crisp Rhythm

I wandered over to the dark wooden coffee table, drawn by an open bag of fiery red crisps resting beside a glass bowl. Carefully reaching inside, I picked out one deeply curled, seasoned chip. Instead of rushing, I tapped its jagged, glassy edge against the smooth porcelain lip of a ceramic mug, listening closely to the sharp, satisfying clicks echoing in the night. Then, I broke a corner in two right beside my ear. The crisp snap sounded like a delicate bass note in the dark, warm and surprisingly bold.