Today as I wrote the words “sometimes even” I looked back and realised I had made a typo that left me instead with “sometime seven”. It sounded so much prettier I nearly left it that way. I’ve been thinking of the sometime seven all day. Possibly it is the name given to a band of brave mystery-solving orphans who work in a traveling circus. Or an assassin who is growing increasingly troubled by his conscience. Or just a number that turns into a rosebush when you look directly at it.

Sometimes something as simple as a misplaced space can lead to something as unexpected and beautiful as the sometime seven.

Just a scrap.
That’s all.