There is solid science behind the theory that observing a thing, especially if the thing knows it is being observed, changes the behavior of the thing. If one were to observe certain variables at a specific time and place it would undoubtedly ruin their plans for the afternoon and make a lot of people angry at the same time. For a particle to avoid being observed, it is sometimes necessary for them to just sort of blink out of existence at one point, and blink back in at another. This baffles scientists to no end and becomes the cause of a lot of math.

  While the particle is gone, it exists in a state of superposition, more of a probability than a problem, for a few moments at least. It could reappear anywhere within a given space, but for just a blink, it just doesn’t exist. Unlike the quantum mechanics problems associated with calculating for a particle that blinks in and out of existence, in Arroyo Grande, some variables just walked from one place to another.

  The drainage culvert, being wide enough to drive down if necessary, and tall enough for a grown adult to walk comfortably upright, was possibly the best-kept secret pedestrian access in Arroyo Grande. Buried beneath the back lots of Arroyo Grande’s main drag, it provided a rough estimation of the creek years earlier when Rixy and Kenny set off for their ill-fated day hike. Featuring a natural ambient temperature of a comfortable 75 degrees and frequent drainage opening skylights, the path from the park at the southern edge of town was mostly debris-free and carpeted in fine sand like walking on a beach at low tide. The last trickle of the early summer storm runoff still meandered gently along the center of the culvert with a gentle burbling sound. Short of the elusive unifying theory it would be impossible to predict with any real precision what happened in the tunnel on that afternoon. It is highly probable that a pair of particles in superposition approached each other along a dark stretch of subterranean stream.

  In this case, the meeting in question can only be presumed, as there was no one there to see it and for reasons unknown, but somewhat obvious, neither party chose to mention it to anyone else. For this reason, it may be necessary to offer up a hypothetical scene in which two strangers probably met whilst taking a clandestine stroll along the subterranean aquatic feature in a now familiar desert town.

  Due to the quality of the acoustics in the culvert, it is safe to assume that they heard each other coming from a greater distance than was entirely comfortable in an enclosed space. The sound of disembodied footsteps in a dark passage could be considered objectively terrifying to most rational people. It might be safe to assume that both parties were probably at least as curious as they were wary. Each might recognize the other to be intriguingly comfortable with an unsavory element and probably armed to the teeth. The slanting rays of daylight through the sewer drains should offer brief glimpses of one another, it was only enough to assuage the most egregiousfears. Each could see that the other didn’t have a machete or chainsaw handy, which was probably at least mildly comforting.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  While the writings of Miss Manners may cover a wide variety of social situations, her guidance on the etiquette of incidental underground meetings between strangers lurking in sewers is somewhat lacking. When the shadow of a man approached the silhouette of a woman walking alone in the underground drainage culvert, he may have nodded politely, allowing her to initiate a greeting if she felt it was necessary. He probably also maintained a safe distance in case she had an itchy trigger finger and a keychain canister of pepperspray.

  Not wanting to be impolite, she probably greeted him cheerily. “Oh, hey there!”

  “Good afternoon,” he might respond.

  She would undoubtedly comment on the weather. “Lovely day for it.”

  He might nod appreciatively. “It certainly is.”

  She probably showed him her working phone. “Google Maps has me all lost,” she might say as an excuse for her current state of superposition, but hold up the working screen to demonstrate her phone’s functionality in case of misadventure.

  “Well,” he may offer assuringly, “the traffic is lighter on this route.”

  It is a curious feature of the human ear that it can discern whether or not the speaker is smiling, even in the darkness of a subterranean drainage culvert. Somewhat relieved that he wasn’t a sewer clown or rabid junkie, she might ask for directions. “Say, I don’t suppose you know which one of these manholes comes up behind the Silver Spoon, do you? A mile seems so much longer underground.”

  The man would probably nod appreciatively having just walked a dark mile unobserved as well. “Yeah, it does.” Glancing over his shoulder he might regret not having counted the drainage access tunnels along the way to be of better service to the attractively shaped possibility. “I’m guessing it’s about six or seven ladders straight ahead,” he might say as if she might get lost along the way.

  “Thanks so much,” she would probably respond, pleased at the surprisingly banal interaction in such an obscure and otherwise sketchy location. Feeling obliged by the polite shadow’s courtesy, she might return the favor. “Oh, by the way,” she might call from the darkness, “there’s a big pile of car parts a little way down there. You should stick close to the left wall.”

  “For sure,” he may cheerily assent. Not wanting to seem overly familiar with the subject of a strange pile of random automotive parts stashed away in the underground culvert he might also have responded: “Say, about that. You might mention those to the sheriff if you get the chance. I think he might be interested.”

  “Oh, sure.” She might say, relieved he hadn’t been a more aggressive lurker. “Should I tell him who…” she might offer, only to reconsider the prospect midsentence.

  “Probably not,” he might agree.

  “Well,” she would say, not wanting to cause a scandal.

  “Yup.” He would nod politely.

  And they probably continued on their ways without another word, proving that two people with so very much in common can miss an opportunity to connect, simply because they happen to be passing each other in a sewer. Both probably decided independently of one another that it is generally considered poor form to mention having encountered a perfectly reasonable and civilized stranger while strolling through the town’s sewers. While this might be the spooky action at a distance that Einstein so famously disliked, unobserved interactions between slow-moving particles in an underground tunnel are notoriously difficult to measure precisely. Besides, those particular variables could have been anywhere else at that precise moment.