The past few days have been full of portents. Spiders, blood, and at Wednesday’s poker game I kept winning with the dead man’s hand. Then this morning I came biking toward myself on Hearst, and the biker’s face didn’t resolve itself into a stranger’s until just before the bike passed me. Yet, weirdly, absolutely nothing bad has happened to me so far. Some people might choose to stop believing in omens altogether after such a disappointing failure to signify anything real, but I know better. It might be in ten minutes or it might be ten years from now, but the next time something horrible happens, I will be able to say I saw it coming a mile away.