LA had an earthquake today.

In a case of life imitating art, I was sitting at my desk when I felt the chair move.

It wasn’t just the chair.  Everything was shaking.

A coffee mug rattled on the desk.  Books toppled like dominoes on a shelf above me, knocking a baseball onto the floor.  A picture fell off the wall.

“Earthquake!” I thought aloud as I scrambled towards the doorjamb out of habit and instinct. I was a bit dazed but scared sober from the adrenaline rush of the quake.  People say I’m crazy, but I actually enjoy the thrill of a good California earthquake as long as nothing breaks and no one gets hurt.

When the tremors subsided I started to put my apartment back together.  Walking over to retrieve the baseball I stopped when I saw the signature on it.  David Ortiz.

It was then that I realized the significance of the moment, which was odd since it took something different for me to notice the similarities.

If you predict the future in a deleted scene, did it really happen at all?

Or perhaps my future self had something to do with it…

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