There is no such thing as a coincidence. There are only lying hippies.

In Boston now. Short post, arbitrary memory:

When I was living in DC, I picked up some pots & pans & small furniture from an acquaintance who was moving to Paris. On my way home from her place, I got an excited phone call from my friend DS, who had just caught a foul ball at a Giants game.

Then, exactly one year later, I picked up some small items of furniture from another acquaintance who was moving to Paris. On my way home from her place, I got a phone call from DS, who had just caught his second foul ball at a ballgame.

This phenomenon ended there. Although DS did catch another foul ball, demonstrating irrefutable evidence of a prior pact with Satan, my apartment is not brimming over with French knicknacks.