I can't help but think, sometimes. Even though I know that thinking is, quite often, a really stupid and pointless endeavor, sometimes I just can't stop myself.

Right now, I'm thinking about a couple of sheets of paper, lying on a table. And one paper is overlapping the other, just a little bit. Just at one corner.

On each of those papers, there is a story. The stories are totally isolated, completely self-contained. Just like the paper on which they're written. Except for that one corner, where they overlap.

I like that part. It's my favorite. More than that, I think that it might be the only part that matters.