There is a romantic comedy called Sliding Doors, wherein the trajectory of a young woman’s life is imagined, in two variations, the first in which she catches a train in the London Underground, just before the doors close and the train exits the station, and the second in which she misses that train, by only a moment or two, due to some trivial or everyday mishap, like the tails of her coat or the strap of her handbag catching in the turnstiles she is hurrying through, at the station.