You don't get life? Eh? You're driving down the street and the wheel from a 747 which detached 15 seconds earlier on takeoff squishes the car in front of you...so, why them and not you? What are the odds? Is there a pattern to all this, or...is life just a series of random branches from a central vine, each trying to maintain some sort of semblance to those around it, but in the end, just trying to survive; trying to find that one foothold which will keep it from destroying the root or itself; it's an interesting thought, eh?
Me, I see it all as random tendrils which eventually conform to a standard simply for the sake of survival. In this instance, should a tendril go astray, there's a man with a pair of clippers who will ensure conformity...and don't you think these guys don't know this?
I'd hate to think that in my life, I'd have to have every photograph slap me full front on to make sense. I'd like to think that while I would really not like to get clipped, I'd still have the want to at least think in an abstract manner.