The snap had resonance. Not a crack, like something breaking, it was a snap.
Liz Ferner was pleased with the sound before she experienced the result.
Three balls sank, a personal record.
She had pocketed two before a few times, but never three.
Her delight bubbled up, but she inhaled it back down.
“Nice break.”
Corey Shaskin said it like he meant it, but also sat back down on a stool in the corner of his basement as though he was a bit mad or disappointed.
Liz smiled at both the compliment and the apparent frustration and turned to rechalk her cue.
“Nice mural,” she said. “Who painted it?”
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