Max Frye. A book for people like me (№ 126123)

To meet a friend (of a friend / just a friend / somewhere I saw that face) by chance on the street, in a coffee shop in the subway (happened to me and such) - this is something real, "right". If your hearing is sensitive, can distinguish a weightless rustling of starched skirts of fate. A chance meeting on the street is not the gesture of her, but smile out of the corner of his mouth.
I trust random encounters more than planned: my plans concocted by me (people are stupid by definition; I am human, therefore...) - and the unintentional collision is made without human intervention.