Philip B Persinger has been writing stuff for over 40 years.

At first, he wrote a mess of plays. Two of them were good.

Then he wrote software. He was successful enough at that that he lived the suburban dream. He worried about his lawn.

Then one morning, he saw a woman he hadn't seen for over twenty-five years, running down these subways steps.

He called out her name. She stopped and looked up. It was indeed her*.

The next time he was in NYC, he took a different route. He cared about his lawn. Then Wham! He walked into her again. This time at a Starbucks.

Gallons of coffee later, he moved across the Hudson River. At that time, Philip said to himself, "If I don't write this down, I'm an idiot."

So he did.

*The author believes that the use of the predicate nominative will soon be archaic.