In the distance between here and there, something might happen:

You fall in love with the boy standing at your side as he takes your hand for the very first time.

An evil spirit that only lives between daylight hours on the cusp between red- and green-fronted façades leaps out and devours you, inhaling you back into the crack betwixt turquoise and ruby.

You take three steps forwards and chance upon a ring  adorned with a diamond the size of a quail’s egg. There is a note attached by a length of garden twine. “Keep me,” it reads “for my mistress will never have use for me again.”

You drop all the leaflets you were about to deliver to the houses on the street, they flutter skywards in a gust of wind, blowing away all hope of ever finding  your darling lost kitty.

An abandoned house springs back to life — shutters fall away, peeling paint lies slick and new against the brickwork, a growth of new lawn leaps upwards — and you find yourself face to face with the home of your dreams.

Anything might happen, but you have to take the first step.