Yesterday, I was stopped in traffic behind a '90s green Chevy truck with a matching camper top, and a distinctively rusted bumper. I noticed this truck -- Noticed it, For Some Reason (enough to cement it in my memory, in any case). The truck was nowhere near my house.
This afternoon, my father happened to give me a newspaper clipping from The Charlotte Observer, detailing how a man accidentally threw away a prized ring and then, miraculously, located it in the dump, and after 30 minutes, no less, when the dump workers had, understandably, given him "zero chance of finding it."
While eating lunch, I read the newspaper clipping, which got me thinking about such incredibly unlikely happenings, which got me thinking about my own incredibly unlikely happenings, which got me thinking about how chance, it seems, is an illusion, since reality seems to operate on some nonlogical structure that we have yet to decipher -- a structure that seems to be intelligent, and will make itself known to those open to its possibility.
Just as I thought this, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye: a truck, passing by my house, outside my dining-room window. I only caught a fleeting glimpse of it, but it was enough to make out a chartreuse green, and a matching camper top, and a bumper with an infection of rust. My house is very secluded, by the way.
It brought a sense of, "Did I hear my name?"