When precipitation extinguishes a fire required to cook sustenance the general consensus among those gathered by the flames is that of contempt. A sadist might enjoy a stomach growl shaking their bust causing vibrations to play their ribs like a xylophone, but the average BBQ connoisseur would be afflicted from disappointment. All that preparation for naught because chance makes slaves of us all. For every choice we conceive a desired outcome. Though we can distinguish between what we perceive to be the best choices, we can never predict the consequences of our choices; they will always be controlled by chance. Chance shouldn’t be confused with change. Change is a reaction to chance. Chance is God. Those who worship tend to find opportunities when consequences manifest like miracles. And prayers become nothing more than spoken memories.