He shook his head. He was drunk—they both were—and his eyes had a tendency to cross, but his
sincerity was unmistakable. "Jane. I think maybe this was supposed to happen. You know? I feel a
connection with you. Something deep. Like… you know how if you take a coin and break it in a vise and throw half in the ocean and keep the other in a dresser drawer, they'll yearn after each other? One day you're taking out a pair of socks and you knock the drawer-half onto the floor without noticing.
Somebody kicks it toward the door. A week later, it's half a block away. And the other half meanwhile,
a fish swallows it and is caught and gutted and the entrails thrown into the trash, half-coin and all. So that maybe a couple of months later, it might take a century, you'll find the two lying in the sand at the verge of some nothing-special stretch of country road, nestled together.
"That's kind of how I think we are."