The story
I had repaired the radio twice before sunset and was considering a third attempt when the dial finally settled. A thin tune escaped the speaker. The harbour seemed to lean closer. Under the jetty, a dark shape moved through the last strip of orange light.
The line had been resting beside my boot. I lifted it carefully, listening to the little crackle from the receiver and the smaller sound of water touching wood. The bass appeared just beyond the lantern, large enough to make the ordinary evening feel newly arranged.
By the time I reached for the notebook it had gone. I wrote the time anyway, then drew the circle it left on the surface. The radio kept playing. For the rest of that night, I could not decide which of the two signals I had been waiting for.
Transmission one: pay attention to what arrives between the sounds.