Late night, driving along a lonely Long Island highway, perhaps a bit sleepy after a half bottle of wine at dinner. Your long, straight roadway begins a slow, sweeping turn around an outcropping of forest and a pulsing light suddenly comes into perfect clarity. Just like lightning, but running laterally rather than vertically. The intensity is furious and the intervals regular, as if God has the switch on a timer. Then, with no discernible impetus, no outside influence, the storm ends.
The static laboratory, now languishing in the backwoods of Long Island. From the great mind of Nikola Tesla, a proper Thomas Edison rival.