You weren’t paying attention to your oatmeal and it has somehow become unfathomably soggy. This happens often, like time and moistness have a linear love affair. You look up. Simone Biles, now retired, is sitting across from you at the end of the very long table. Simone Biles is also eating oatmeal, but the longer she waits, the more milk fills the bowl. After only a few minutes of staring emotionlessly into each other’s eyes, her bowl overflows onto the table, and the milk begins to drip calmly, infinitely, onto the floor filling a shallow lake of surface tension on the hardwood.

Her oatmeal is getting more and more crisp, like a sponge being squeezed out in the sun. Simone Biles’ oatmeal has an inverse relationship to sogginess over time. Simone Biles is your cereal-opposite. Did Simone Biles do that to the cereal? Or is it a passive effect of her presence? Milk as it laps the hem of your pants. You shove the chair away from the table. The sound of the chair sliding along hardwood is replaced with the swwph of milk being moved. Simone Biles takes a bite, and the crunch is so, so crisp.