Last week, on my way back from London on the coach, I saw a lorry hauling a tube carriage. A little later I saw another lorry pulling an aircraft fuselage. Whilst in London, I crossed paths with the same people twice. And this happened more than once. Let's just say that Soho's very own Abyssinian goth haunt, the Intrepid Fez, was involved - I'll say no more.
In any case, I was going to fashion this into some sort of highfalutin' commentary on coincidence, drawing on the work of Paul Auster, and Andre Breton's Nadja. But then I thought: why bother? (Plus, this way I give the impression of being interesting, without having to commit myself to anything at all.)
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