I was sitting on the train the other day, reading one of those books, like the one you've got in your hand right now, with the big gaudy logo on the front, proclaiming to one and all that despite my comfortable flats, stockings and businesslike attire, I was a bit of a weirdo and a nutter, when I notice this curious little man staring at me across the aisle. He said, "I'm just looking at the title of your book. Fiction is it?" And I thought, "Wow, this guy is even crazier than I am, as if it could be anything but fiction, but I let him look at it. He thumbed through it muttering, "Oh, dear. They've gone and gotten everything right. Just by fluke." Then he passed it back to me with a shake of his head and a strange little smile. He got off the train and I thought no more about it.
I'm reading these notes now, and it really doesn't make much sense. I've never read Star Trek novels, and what else could I have meant by the garish logo. And yet, I can't help thinking I've lost something precious or forgotten something important, like forgetting my big rainbow colored umbrella on a gray day like today.
DISCLAIMER: Of course, if this had really happened it couldn't really have happened, and you wouldn't be where you are right now, reading these words.