Meatloaf
On the roadside, in a pile of junk by a cardboard sign that reads "FREE!", I find a book of short stories by Virginia Woolf. I grab it and continue walking.
Finding the book is a funny coincidence as I had just bought one of her novels, The Lighthouse, a few days prior. I had gone back to the thrift store in the hope of finding Mario Puzo's Fools Die still on the shelf, which it was not, when I came across the Woolf novel and several more books of interest, all of which I bought because I wasn't about to experience such non-buyer's remorse again so soon.
As I walk with book in hand, I can't help but feel that the universe is trying to put my book collection into proper alignment. You see, although I had read many of her contemporaries, from William Faulkner to Katherine Mansfield, I somehow never before read any of Virginia Woolf's fiction. And now I have 2 books of it!
In the evening, another coincidence comes to my attention. My fiancée has messaged me to say that, quite by chance, she is having meatloaf for the third time in two days. We both find this to be hilarious.
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