Synchronicity

Jen works in Manchester and I work in Liverpool, so we have our own two-car convoy on the motorway each morning—Jen in front, me behind (I like to keep an eye on her). We go our own separate ways at junction 17 of the M60.

Last night, Jen stayed at her friend's house in Preston. It was weird not having her in front of me this morning: I'm used to her driving, and can predict her actions, whereas the bloke in front of me this morning kept slamming on his brakes for no readily apparent reason, and swerving inexplicably to the left.

I was just passing the junction where the M60 is joined by the M61, when some bloody idiot coming off the M61 started blaring their horn. I ignored them. Then my phone rang. It was Jen: "Are you going to let me in, or what?" she said. And there she was, joining the motorway right in front of me.

It's been a week full of co-incidences like that.

By Richard Carter

A fat, bearded chap with a Charles Darwin fixation.

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