At some point, adulthood becomes just one long series of reboots. The same mornings, the same traffic lights, the same casserole pretending to be dinner again. It’s not a bad existence, exactly, just a very beige one. You start moving through the world like you’re caught in a side quest with no map and no end boss, just errands and emails on repeat. So when something random and absurd actually happens, a weird message scribbled under a park bench, a sticker of a duck where no duck should be, it hits different. It’s a glitch in the routine, and for one second, the universe feels like it’s in on the joke.

That’s the thing about adulthood: it shrinks the number of genuine surprises to almost zero. Bills are expected. Work drama is expected. Even joy has to be penciled into the calendar. Which is exactly why stumbling across something strange, funny, or totally out of place feels a bit like finding treasure. It’s not big, it’s not useful, but it’s proof that not every detail of daily life has been pre-approved by the Department of Predictability.