Every once in a while I’ll realize that something — be it the strange way that anthropomorphic chair sat opposite me on the train made of toothpicks is looking at me, or the fact I seem to be walking up the sides of buildings a lot more efficiently than I usually do — isn’t quite right with the world.

I’ll then come to realize too that the reason for this is primarily that the world in question exists entirely in my own head.

And then someone will say something to nudge me back into whatever strange story my mind has concocted, the same way a character in a poorly written play might attempt to distract an audience from their growing disinterest by reminding them that there is presumably a worthwhile plot line forthcoming — and find myself drawn in again, every time!

I’m just a sucker for narrative.