between the vertical stall in a hammerhead and the drop and spin. The moment between the last stroke and the money shot. The moment between the sharp turn of the wheel and the set of the tires, the moment between the “I Do” and the realization that you shouldn’t have.

And then there’s that moment between looking in the crapper and seeing the deep red blood, and a lot of it, and panicking, and the remembrance that you ate a plateload of beets for dinner last night.

Somewhat similar, but not quite the same.