The road is flat and straight. Along the right side there is an endless row of trees extending to the horizon and beyond, as far as I can see. The tree trunks form parallel cylinders equally spaced in time. Nearly so that is. Every ten seconds or thereabouts there is a slight glitch in the perfect harmony of the universe. If I could predict this moment in time, I could veer my car to the right at the exact second. Just squeeze through like an arrow. Unless I started to skid sideways, I'd have to take that into consideration as well. Now that I think of it, I'd have to jerk the steering wheel sideways not at the exact second but a millisecond or two or maybe three before that exact second. According to the laws of nature, the car would contine travelling a finite extra distance before it reacted to my hands, gripped so firmly. A single drop of sweat would be sliding down my forehead and I would be able to feel it. Like an elastic cord connecting my mind to the steering wheel and then to the two trees between which I was meant to travel. That's when it would happen, in my mind, in the parallel world which never was, of which I'm not meant to be a part. Maybe next time, and then I will have to explain it slightly differently.
