The exact moment a bingo slips away

It was 4:17 a.m., and I had the rack: Q, U, Z, X, E, A, T. I knew it wasn’t enough—no words in the dictionary that fit—but I kept staring at it like it might change if I just willed it. Then I remembered: ‘quax’ isn’t a word, but ‘quaz’ is a type of dog in some obscure game. I laughed out loud, then felt stupid. The tile rack doesn’t care about your feelings. But still—there’s something almost sacred about how close you can get to a perfect play and not quite touch it.