22:22, and Other Things I Still Believe In
I keep seeing 22:22.
And every time I do, a small part of me wonders whether someone, somewhere, is trying to tell me something.
Which is funny, because I used to do almost exactly the same thing when I was a little girl.
A friend and I had a little ritual on our way home from school in Brazil.
We would look at the licence plates of passing cars, searching for certain combinations of numbers. One meant someone was thinking about us. Another meant someone liked us. Maybe even loved us.
I don’t remember every combination we used to look for, but I remember how much fun we had finding them. Two…
The skinny
The skinny isn't ready yet — notes appear once the transcript is processed.