Is somebody out there sending me psychic pastry?  I’m sitting here in my condo, all the windows and doors shut tight, because it’s a cold and rainy night and I’ve been sick.  I’m in the “penthouse;” nobody else has a kitchen on this floor.  So how is it possible that, a few minutes ago, I smelled baking pastry?  

This could be explained as a simple momentary psychosis, if I were hungry.  I’m not.  So I guess I’d better get some sleep.  

[Just in case I ever run for high public office, I’m kidding.]