“But it isn’t yours though, is it?” interrupted his conscience, “You were just lucky enough to stumble onto it. It’s someone else’s idea...”

But the fact that he had found it was too much of a coincidence to ignore; it was as though he were destined to write it. Did it really matter that it was not his idea? And what if it nobody else ever wrote it?... No, he thought, no... His conscience was right: it was a good idea, but it wasn’t his idea. He wouldn’t be able live with himself...

Like a photograph of an ex-lover, he let go of the piece of paper and watched as it fluttered away on the wind. There was someone watching him from the other end of the street, so he decided to move on. Keep walking, he thought, just keep walking...

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