By eight the kitchen radio had already set out invitations no bigger than postage stamps. Each station knocked on the aerial, waited for the geranium to nod, and only then sat down to play a single song.
We asked at the kiosk. A woman with a shopping net said the waltz had introduced itself to the antenna first, and after that the leaf leaned in as if it were keeping score. In the notebook by the sink someone wrote: the second verse never came, and nobody minded.
The next morning the same set was still warm. One station came back, read its invitation aloud, played once, and left the windowsill a little greener.