Imagine a baby in a basket at your doorstep one fine morning. No notes, no name tags, not even a guide or a single instruction. But you don't call the cops. You bring the basket home.
Imagine clutching a favorite book while running out of a blazing house.
Or that last cupcake, vanilla yet surprisingly good.
Or that little boy in kindergarten who sits there painting, long after everyone else has gone out to play.
Or the last laugh before you doze off.
The lanky preteen boy who looks back over his shoulder a dozen times as he walks home from school.
Or the teenaged girl who needs some help with her choices.
A timid ladybird on your arm you grew so fond of.
The face in the hallway you had never seen. Till you finally did.
Or the knock on the door that you knew would come any second now.
Or that stranger in the park, reading your favorite novel.
7:00 pm.
Little Simba and Timon alternating in dynamic equilibrium.
3:00 am.
Irony and puns and wordplay.
8:00 am.
Such ridiculous graffiti.
The room of requirement. Yeah.
A rescue spaceship.
An astronaut.
