Yesterday on the way to work I saw someone reading Life, the Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams, RIP.
On the way home last night, I saw a completely different someone reading The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul, also by Douglas Adams.
Now, consider this: I live in a city where the English-speaking population is small enough that it only takes us three steps to get to Kevin Bacon, if you know what I mean. Furthermore, the members of that population who indulge in Adams are, I thought, all people I already know, several of them intimately (though not Biblically). Finally, both books in question are from the 1980s, so it’s not like they’re hot new releases.
Someone is trying to tell me something.
In the words of Marvin, “just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”

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