Some days are like Cold War spy thrillers.
You find yourself peeking down corridors out of the corners of your eyes. Every habits seems like dangerous patterns, a weakness for banality to exploit. Constellations of predictable coordinates grid-line your everyday life, and you try to second-guess the enemy: setting your alarm an hour early; turning left at the last second, when you would turn right; sitting down at a different table in a different cafe to a different type of latte.
Trying to catch a glimpse of destiny in shop windows.