“Fucking thing,” I scoffed, glaring at the flickering street lamp across the street from my bedroom window.

I gripped my pencil and scratched down another letter with every flash, and then the pattern restarted. I held the paper in front of my face, squinted, and tried to make out my own writing.

After a few moments I violently crumpled up the piece of paper and hurled it on the ground like a meteor. The Morse code meant nothing and took me all night to figure out.