A is for Apophenia

There were three women all in red blouses walking down the street today. Then there was a man in a green shirt, a tiny yapping dog in a blue sweater thing, and then three more women in red. I don’t know what that means, but if I see that pattern tomorrow, I’m never going to leave the house again.

It’s three steps from my bed to my computer chair, five from the chair to the dresser, eight from the dresser to the bedroom door, thirteen from the door to the bathroom. Any mammal above a kilogram, whether you’re talking about a cat, a human, or an elephant, takes twenty-one seconds on average to urinate.

You see it, right? I don’t need to explain the significance there? I didn’t plan this, I swear, but sometimes these things happen. Sometimes life arranges itself like this, and when you see it, all you can do is tremble.

The books on my bookshelf are arranged alphabetically. They used to form a sinusoid, before I cut them all to the same height.

There’s an acrostic everyday on the front page of the Herald. You just have to know where to look. When you ignore the garbage at the beginning and end of the message, it’s positively bone-chilling. Yesterday’s read PLSE HL PLQUSE HELP PLS HP.

There’s something horrible in this city. Some conspiracy devouring the innocent, replacing them with women in red blouses, men in green shirts. It’s all there, you see. It’s all so plain, once you filter out the noise.

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