Quiet.

Yes.

Silence.

It’s nice.

Soon, they’ll be here. Singing into the night. It’s been seventeen years. Not a sound. Not a trace, he said. Sure. There’s birds and coyotes. Dogs barking at all hours. You become immune to that. Tune it out. And now, we know what’s coming. That shrieking sound. Sounds of summer every few years.

They come out of the ground, he said. They piss on everything. Like they were little boys. A constant stream of urine runs from them, he looked at the dark sky. Rain was moving in.

What day do you think they’ll launch their attack?

Not sure. Soon. It’ll be soon. And the fireflies will be out as well. Remember when we would catch them in glass jars? they laughed.

Yeah. That was years ago.

Yes. Seventeen, to be exact. At the same time, cicadas came around. Light and loudness. It was like a war zone.

How long do you think they’ll stay?

Not sure. I’m sure scientists know. Experts on these matters. I couldn’t tell you, he lit a cigarette. Enjoy the silence for now, he told him. Enjoy it.