How old is too old for the death penalty? This profound question is currently igniting a fierce debate across the state of Florida. At the center of this controversy is 74-year-old Dusty Ray Spencer, who is scheduled to be put to death. If the execution proceeds, he will become the oldest inmate to ever be executed in the state of Florida.
Currently, the elderly man is fighting to stop his own execution. His legal team is desperately arguing that his advanced age, severe illness, and the fact that he has spent more than three decades on death row should serve as grounds to spare his life. Conversely, Florida officials maintain that none of these factors erase the brutality of what occurred in an Orange County backyard back in 1992.
Spencer is reportedly suffering from advanced liver cirrhosis, and his mobility is severely limited. His daily routine now consists primarily of medical checkups and sitting on a steel bunk. Outside the prison gates, his defense attorneys and anti-death penalty advocates have gathered before news cameras, pleading for mercy. They are characterizing the impending lethal injection as a “nursing home execution.”
The defense argues that dragging a sick, frail, elderly man to a gurney after keeping him locked in a 6×9 cell for more than 30 years constitutes an abuse of government power. They claim he poses absolutely no physical threat to anyone. They insist that the man sitting in that cell today is fundamentally not the same person he was three decades ago.
In just a few days, unless a high court intervenes, Dusty Ray Spencer is scheduled to become the oldest person put to death in Florida since the United States Supreme Court reinstated the death penalty in 1976. This timeline prompts an immediate, pressing question. Why is the state of Florida so fiercely determined to strap him down and execute him now?
Why are state prosecutors fighting against every single last-minute appeal his lawyers file? To understand the unyielding demand from the state to see this execution through, one must rewind the clock 34 years. We must return to a quiet, dark morning in Orange County, Florida, to meet a teenage boy who stepped onto his back patio holding a hunting rifle, trying desperately to save his mother’s life.
To understand the weight of this case, we must go back to 1991. To their neighbors in Orange County, Dusty Ray Spencer and his wife, Karen Spencer, appeared to be a standard, hard-working couple. They were navigating the usual everyday challenges of a blended family, and they were also business partners. Their lives were deeply intertwined financially, legally, and personally; they shared a home, bank accounts, and the daily operations of their work.
Behind closed doors, however, the reality was drastically different. Dusty dictated the terms of their relationship. He controlled their finances and he controlled their daily routines. When Karen disagreed with him or pushed back against his demands, his response was always aggressive. The home became a tense environment where Karen walked on eggshells, constantly monitoring Dusty’s moods and doing whatever she could just to keep the peace.
By late 1991, Karen had reached her limit. She made the most dangerous decision an abuse victim can make: she decided to leave. She sat Dusty down and asked him to pack his belongings, as she wanted him out of their shared home. Dusty Ray Spencer did not accept this. He viewed Karen and their assets as his property, and he was not going to walk away from the house or let go of the control he held over Karen’s life.
The tension in the house finally boiled over on December 10, 1991. Dusty returned to the property to confront Karen, his anger centered heavily around their finances. Karen had recently gone to the bank and legally withdrawn funds from their joint business account—money that was tied to the business she actively helped run. But to Dusty, she had taken money that belonged to him.
The argument escalated rapidly. Dusty closed the distance between them and attacked her. He struck Karen, knocking her off balance, and then he reached out and wrapped his hands tightly around her throat, cutting off her airway. As she struggled to breathe, Dusty looked her in the eyes and made his intentions clear: he told her he was going to kill her.
When he finally let go, Karen survived the assault. As soon as she caught her breath and Dusty left the property, she went straight to the authorities. She walked into the Orange County police station, filed a formal report, and documented the bruises forming on her neck and the explicit threats made against her life. The police acted quickly, locating Dusty, arresting him for the assault, and booking him into the local county jail.
Karen had a brief moment of quiet, knowing the man who had just choked her was locked behind heavy steel doors. But jail didn’t calm Dusty down; if anything, it made him angrier. The very next day, Dusty was granted his allotted phone call from the holding facility. He didn’t use it to call a bail bondsman or a defense attorney; he called Karen.
When she picked up the receiver, she heard a calm, direct promise. Dusty told her that the exact moment he bonded out of jail, he was going to come right back to the house and finish what he had started. Karen was trapped. She knew Dusty would eventually post bond on a simple assault charge, and she knew he would be back on the streets of Orange County.
Hoping to de-escalate the situation and buy herself some time, she made a difficult choice. When Dusty bonded out of jail, she allowed him to return to the home briefly for the Christmas holidays. It wasn’t a reconciliation; she was trying to placate him, hoping that a quiet holiday might cool his temper while she figured out a permanent escape plan.
But the peace was an illusion. The tension in the house throughout December was suffocating. By the time Christmas was over, Karen knew she couldn’t maintain the facade any longer. She stood her ground once again and demanded he leave the property for good. With his access to his wife officially cut off, Dusty packed a bag and left.
He began spending his days drinking heavily with friends. On New Year’s Day of 1992, while having drinks with a friend, Dusty started talking about his wife. He didn’t complain about a potential divorce or the division of furniture. Instead, he told his friend about an idea he was considering. He suggested he should take Karen out on their shared boat, drive them far out into the deep water off the Florida coast, and simply throw her overboard.
It wasn’t just idle chatter. Two days later, on January 3, he complained to that exact same friend that Karen was refusing to go out on the boat with him anymore. She was instinctively protecting herself, knowing better than to be isolated with him on the water. Because she refused to go to the boat, his plans were frustrated, and he decided to bring the violence directly to her front door instead.
The sun had set on January 4, 1992, when Dusty forced his way back into Karen’s home. He didn’t knock; he pushed his way into her sanctuary, marched directly into her bedroom in the dark, and launched a physical assault. But Karen was not alone in the house. Her teenage son, Timothy, was fast asleep in his own bedroom down the hall.
The loud crashing of furniture, the thud of bodies hitting the floor, and his mother’s cries woke the boy from a deep sleep. Timothy jumped out of bed and rushed down the hallway. He threw open his mother’s bedroom door and saw Dusty physically on top of Karen, striking her. Without hesitation, the teenager jumped into the fight.
He tackled his stepfather, trying to pull the older man off his mother. But Dusty grabbed the nearest heavy object he could find in the bedroom—a solid metal clothes iron. When Timothy intervened, Dusty turned his attention to the boy. He swung the heavy metal appliance, striking the teenager in the head.
The blunt force of the blow split the teenager’s skin, causing him to stumble backward, bleeding and disoriented. Dusty didn’t stop. Seeing the boy retreat, Dusty got up, chased the injured teenager down the hallway, and cornered him. He struck the boy several more times with the iron. Standing over the bleeding teenager, Dusty pointed the iron at him and said, “You’re next. I don’t want any witnesses.”
Realizing the situation had escalated, Timothy broke away and ran to the kitchen. He grabbed the house telephone to call 911, but Dusty watched him. He walked over to the wall, grabbed the phone cord, and violently yanked it straight out of the jack, severing their connection to the outside world. Having cut the phone line, Dusty walked out the door and disappeared into the night.
Timothy and Karen were left bleeding in the house. They found their car keys and drove themselves through the dark streets to the local emergency room. They sat in the triage area covered in blood, waiting for treatment. The doctors applied stitches and thoroughly documented the injuries, noting in the medical files that both Karen’s and Timothy’s head wounds were a direct physical match for the heavy angular strikes of a clothes iron.
Police took another report. Warrants were issued, but Dusty was in the wind. Following the attack with the iron, Timothy Johnson became the primary defender of his home. He was just a teenager; he should have been worried about his classes, his friends, and what he was going to do after graduation. Instead, he was forced into the role of a bodyguard.
Timothy knew Dusty’s words were not empty threats. He had felt the iron crack against his skull; he had heard the promise to eliminate witnesses. The teenager possessed a grim understanding that his mother’s life was in constant danger. He also understood the reality of the legal system: the police had taken a report and were looking for Dusty, but a piece of paper and an arrest warrant couldn’t physically stop a man from kicking in their front door at 3:00 in the morning.
The police could not park a cruiser in their driveway 24 hours a day. So, Timothy took matters into his own hands. He acquired a hunting rifle. He brought it into his mother’s bedroom, loaded it, and kept it close by. He was ready to do whatever it took to defend his family. While Timothy and Karen tried to recover, changing the locks, jumping at every creak of the floorboards, and living in a constant state of exhaustion, Dusty fixated entirely on Karen.
He didn’t leave town, and he didn’t turn himself in to face the pending assault charges. He ignored the legal boundaries and the police warnings, and then he waited. He didn’t attack the very next day when the police would be heavily patrolling the neighborhood looking for him. He waited exactly two weeks after the iron attack.
He let the immediate heat cool down. He waited for the exact moment when exhaustion would finally pull Karen and Timothy into a deep sleep. On the early morning of January 18, 1992, under the heavy cover of darkness, Dusty returned to the house. He didn’t come to argue, and he didn’t come to gather the rest of his clothes.
The house was quiet. The neighborhood was perfectly still. Timothy was asleep in his bed, physically drained from two straight weeks of stress. Suddenly, the teenager was jolted awake. The sounds of a struggle were coming from the backyard patio. Knowing exactly who was out there, Timothy reached for the rifle. His heart hammering in his chest, he gripped the cold metal of the weapon, ran out the back door, and stepped barefoot onto the concrete.
When Timothy burst through the back door, his eyes adjusted to the dark. His mother was on the ground. Dusty was standing directly over her, his arm rising and falling. He was repeatedly smashing a heavy, solid brick directly into Karen’s face and head. Desperate to save her, the teenager raised his rifle. He pointed the barrel directly at his stepfather’s chest, and he pulled the trigger.
A hollow metallic click echoed through the backyard. The gun misfired. Whether it was a jammed firing pin, a bad round of ammunition, or a panicked failure to disengage the safety, the result was the same: the gun wouldn’t shoot. Realizing his only weapon had just failed him, Timothy didn’t run away. He charged forward.
He gripped the hot barrel of the gun and swung the heavy wooden stock directly into Dusty’s head like a baseball bat. He swung with such force that the solid wood completely shattered on impact, sending splinters flying across the patio. Dusty staggered and dropped the brick, but he didn’t go down.
He turned his attention briefly to the boy. He reached down, grabbed Karen’s nightgown, and violently pulled it up to expose her. He looked right at the teenager and taunted him, saying, “Show your boy your pussy.” Then he grabbed Karen by the hair and violently slammed her skull into the solid concrete exterior wall of the house. Karen looked up at Dusty and told him to stop.
Timothy dropped the broken, useless pieces of the rifle. He reached down and desperately tried to physically pick his bleeding mother up. He wanted to carry her inside and lock the door, but Dusty reached into his pocket and pulled out a long knife. The blade caught the low light. He pointed it directly at the teenager, threatening to gut him right there in the yard if he didn’t back off immediately.
Realizing he was physically overpowered and entirely unarmed against a man with a blade, Timothy made the only choice he had left. He couldn’t save her. He ran. He sprinted away from his own backyard, his bare feet slapping loudly against the pavement. He raced down the street towards a neighbor’s house. He pounded on their door, woke them up, and screamed for the police.
By the time Orange County police officers arrived just minutes later, their sirens wailing and lights cutting through the darkness, the backyard was entirely silent. Dusty Ray Spencer was gone. Karen Spencer was dead on the patio. The crime scene technicians who processed the yard confirmed the details of the attack.
Karen had defensive wounds covering her hands and arms from where she had tried to block the slashing knife. She had suffered severe blunt force trauma to her head from the brick and the concrete wall, but the fatal blows were deep stab wounds directly to her chest. Dusty had driven the blade straight into her heart and lungs.
A massive manhunt was launched immediately. Police blanketed the area, and Dusty Ray Spencer was apprehended shortly after. Because the evidence was so overwhelming—investigators found blood matching Karen on his clothes, the abandoned bloody brick at the scene, the shattered rifle pieces scattered exactly where Timothy said they would be, and Timothy’s eyewitness testimony—the trial moved quickly.
The prosecution laid out the timeline for the jury. They didn’t just focus on the morning of the murder; they went back to the December assault. They presented the records of the phone call from jail where Dusty promised to finish the job. They pointed out the specific two-week gap between the iron attack and the murder. They let the timeline prove the premeditation.
Dusty didn’t act on a sudden impulse. He waited. He planned, and he returned. The jury listened as the state detailed how Dusty had abused his wife, threatened to murder his stepson to eliminate a witness, and carried out a killing in his own backyard. When Timothy took the stand, he recounted waking up, grabbing the rifle, the mechanical click of the misfire, and shattering the wood over his stepfather’s head.
He pointed to Dusty Ray Spencer in the courtroom. It took the jury very little time to deliberate on the facts. They convicted Dusty Ray Spencer of first-degree murder, aggravated assault, and aggravated battery. During the penalty phase, the jury weighed the nature of the crime. They recommended the death penalty. The trial judge agreed with the recommendation. Dusty Ray Spencer was sentenced to die.
For more than 30 years, Dusty Ray Spencer has sat inside a small concrete cell on Florida’s death row, located at Union Correctional Institution. Over the decades, his defense lawyers have filed a mountain of appeals to try and stop his execution. In courtrooms across the state, his appellate attorneys argued that the story presented at trial missed the deeper truth of his life.
They presented records showing he was a victim of severe childhood abuse, suffering from trauma that altered his behavior. They pointed out his past military service. They emphasized that his rampant drug and alcohol addictions meant he was acting under extreme emotional disturbance at the time of the murder, impairing his judgment.
But appellate prosecutors stood firm year after year. They pointed right back to the physical facts of the crime scene. They pointed to the cut phone line on January 4. They pointed to the calculated two-week wait. They pointed to the specific verbalized threats to Timothy to leave no witnesses. You don’t cut a phone line to eliminate witnesses in a blind, sudden haze. You do it because you are executing a plan.
Every single time the defense appealed all the way up the judicial ladder, the courts sided with the state. The sentence was repeatedly upheld. Which brings us back to today, the humid, tense summer of June 2026. After 29 years of his death sentence being legally final, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis signed Dusty’s official death warrant.
The execution was set for June 25, 2026. His defense team immediately went back into the courtroom, filing emergency appeals in both state and federal courts. His spiritual advisor and a network of advocates publicly condemned the pending lethal injection. They argue that executing an elderly man who can barely walk, who suffers from advanced liver cirrhosis, and who has been locked in a cell for three decades, serves absolutely no penal purpose.
They argue it is a violation of the Eighth Amendment, a cruel and unusual punishment. They claim the violent man who killed Karen is gone, replaced by a frail old man. But Attorney General James Uffmeier and the state of Florida are fighting back relentlessly. They argue that the brutality of the crime demands justice, regardless of how much time has passed, or how much the inmate has aged.
The delay, the state points out, is entirely due to the inmate’s own exhaustive, decades-long use of the appellate system to fight his sentence. The state argues he should not be rewarded with a life sentence simply because he managed to tie up the courts for 30 years. Just days ago, the Florida Supreme Court reviewed Dusty’s final emergency appeals based on his advanced age and failing health.
The high court unanimously and firmly rejected them. They stated the claims were legally without merit, contradicted established law regarding age and executions, and were filed far too late in the process. The court doors have slammed shut. Unless a last-minute stay is granted by the United States Supreme Court, the state of Florida is legally clear to strap Dusty Ray Spencer to a gurney and carry out the sentence.
When violence escalates to murder, the warning signs are almost always there. Dusty Ray Spencer didn’t snap one day out of the blue. He telegraphed his intentions for months. He used physical violence to test boundaries and gain control. He used threats to try and silence his stepson. He choked his wife, and when she didn’t submit, he promised to finish the job.
He murdered Karen Spencer on a concrete patio right in front of her own child. Timothy Johnson, a brave teenager who fought with everything he had, shattering a rifle over a killer’s head to save his mother, was left with scars that no amount of time or legal justice can fully heal. He lost his mother and his sense of safety on that January morning.
As the debate over the execution of a 74-year-old man unfolds across news networks and social media today, the people intimately involved in this case still remember the reality of that Orange County backyard. They don’t just see a frail old man lying in a prison bed. They see the man standing in the dark with the brick and the knife.
They remember the life of a mother that was stolen, and they remember the reality that sometimes the most dangerous place a person can be is locked inside their own home. Every detail of the trial serves as a stark reminder of the calculated nature of the crime. The defense’s plea for mercy clashes with the state’s insistence on absolute justice for the victims.
The legal journey of Dusty Ray Spencer has been long and exhausting, marked by decades of legal maneuvering that have kept him alive long past the time when many expected his story to end. For the families involved, the wait for finality has been a long, painful shadow. The judicial process is designed to be thorough, ensuring every right is respected, yet it inevitably drags out the trauma for those who have lost so much.
The debate over age and the death penalty often focuses on the ethics of the practice, questioning whether a system should exact the ultimate penalty on those who have reached their twilight years. Critics argue that once a person has lost their physical capacity to cause harm, the punitive nature of the death penalty loses its primary justification.
However, proponents of the law argue that justice is not dependent on the age of the perpetrator at the time of the execution. They maintain that the debt to society created by a heinous crime is not settled by the passage of time or the deterioration of health. This clash of philosophies is at the heart of the current conflict in Florida.
As the date approaches, the eyes of the nation are once again focused on the legal system and the administration of capital punishment. Whether the outcome leads to an execution or a further stay, the legacy of the violence that occurred in that backyard will remain a permanent fixture in the lives of those who witnessed it.
For Timothy Johnson, the trauma of that night in 1992 has never truly faded. The memory of the rifle misfiring and the desperate attempt to save his mother remains a haunting narrative. The legal system, while cold and clinical in its documentation, provided a framework for him to find some semblance of justice, yet the emotional toll is a burden he has carried into adulthood.
The sheer volume of records and testimonies collected over 34 years creates a comprehensive picture of the events. From the initial police report of the assault to the final, grim conclusion of the murder, the trail of evidence was consistent. Dusty’s behavior was a pattern of escalation, moving from emotional manipulation to physical battery, and finally, to cold-blooded murder.
It is rare for a case to span this many decades with such intensity, but the persistence of the appellate process has turned this into a landmark example of the complexities of the death penalty. It forces society to look beyond the immediate crime and consider the long-term implications of our judicial choices.
Ultimately, the story of Dusty Ray Spencer is not just about the man himself, but about the impact of his actions on those he left behind. The community of Orange County remembers the fear that gripped their neighborhood during those dark weeks in early 1992. The memory of the violence is a reminder of the fragility of safety and the importance of vigilance.
As we look at the case today, the arguments presented by both sides are deeply reflective of the broader societal struggle with the concept of justice. The state’s demand for the execution is an expression of the need for closure, while the defense’s appeal is a call for compassion in the face of aging and illness.
No matter the final resolution, the case of Dusty Ray Spencer will be remembered as a pivotal moment in Florida’s legal history. It highlights the intersection of aging, crime, and the justice system in a way that is both uncomfortable and necessary to discuss. It challenges us to think about what justice really means and how we should balance it against the realities of human decline.
The persistent nature of his lawyers, the dedication of the prosecutors, and the long, agonizing wait of the survivors all contribute to a complex, multi-layered story. The events that started on that patio in 1992 have echoed through decades, leaving an indelible mark on everyone they touched.
In the end, we are left with the image of a 74-year-old man, a victim of his own choices, and a state that remains committed to its original judgment. The story continues to unfold, holding the attention of those who grapple with the profound and difficult questions of morality and the law.
The narrative of this case serves as a somber reflection on the lasting scars of domestic violence and the slow, arduous path toward any sense of resolution. It underscores the importance of every detail, every piece of evidence, and every voice that has contributed to this exhaustive, decades-long record.
As the clock ticks closer to the scheduled date, the tension remains palpable. The questions raised by this case are not easily answered, and the path forward is as uncertain as the final outcome itself. The story of Karen Spencer and her son, Timothy, serves as the anchor for everything, ensuring that the human cost is never forgotten in the sea of legal arguments.
This remains a stark warning about the potential for human cruelty and the enduring necessity for justice. It demands our attention, not because of the notoriety of the perpetrator, but because of the deep, enduring impact on the lives that were irreversibly changed on that dark, quiet morning in 1992.
What kind of society do we wish to be, and what is the role of punishment in our collective conscience? These are the questions that persist long after the details of the crime are understood. The case of Dusty Ray Spencer will continue to provoke, inform, and challenge these notions for years to come.
Through every twist and turn, the core of the story remains the same: a tragic loss, a brave act of defense, and a long, complicated legal battle. It is a story of survival, of the fight for life, and of the unwavering determination to ensure that the memory of Karen Spencer is honored by the pursuit of the truth.
As we conclude this investigation, we reflect on the weight of the facts presented and the gravity of the decision at hand. The story of Dusty Ray Spencer is one that reminds us of the fragility of life and the immense responsibility we hold in our systems of justice.
The path from the first assault to the brink of execution has been long, marked by heartbreak and the relentless pursuit of justice. It is a story that refuses to be ignored, demanding that we acknowledge the truth of what happened and the consequences that follow.
As we move forward, the questions will only become more pointed. The search for meaning in such a tragic sequence of events will continue, driven by the need to understand the depths of human behavior and the boundaries of our legal systems.
This case is a profound lesson in the persistence of memory and the power of truth. It reminds us that even when time passes, the reality of the past never truly leaves us, and the pursuit of justice remains a vital necessity in our world.
The final chapter is still being written, and it is one that will continue to resonate with everyone who has followed this case. It is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable tragedy.
With every passing day, the stakes only rise higher, bringing us closer to a conclusion that will define the legacy of this case. The story of the man on death row and the life he destroyed will not be forgotten.
It serves as a constant reminder of the complexity of our world and the profound impact of our choices. The justice system, with all its flaws, remains our only mechanism for addressing the most severe crimes, and this case is a testament to that ongoing, often imperfect effort.
As the process continues, we are all witnesses to a unfolding history that touches on the most fundamental aspects of our humanity. The story of Dusty Ray Spencer is, ultimately, a search for justice that has stretched beyond the limits of time and the bounds of conventional expectations.
We are left to consider the weight of each decision and the gravity of the potential outcomes. The story of the backyard in Orange County is more than just a crime; it is a profound testament to the human struggle and the enduring quest for peace, even in the darkest of circumstances.
In looking at the full scope of this narrative, we find that the questions of age, morality, and justice are inextricably linked. The case of Dusty Ray Spencer will undoubtedly remain a focal point for those seeking to understand the limits and the purpose of the justice system in our modern age.
Each detail added to the record strengthens the case for why such matters must be handled with the utmost care and consideration. The lives of Karen and Timothy are the ultimate reason for this, and their story will forever be the central piece of this long and complicated legal odyssey.
The final word on this matter will soon be spoken, and the consequences will ripple out, leaving an impression that will last for generations. The story of the man who waited in the dark and the boy who stood his ground is one that will be retold for years to come.
It is a story that challenges us to be better, to understand more, and to strive for a justice that is as compassionate as it is firm. The journey from the patio in 1992 to the present day is a journey that has transformed the lives of all involved, and the echoes of those events remain just as powerful today as they were then.
As we reflect on all that has transpired, the conclusion remains clear: the path of violence leads only to destruction, and the search for justice is a responsibility that we all share. The case of Dusty Ray Spencer is a defining chapter in the history of Florida’s criminal justice system.
The lessons drawn from this tragedy will surely inform our future, providing insights into the complexities of human nature and the challenges of the law. The story, in all its darkness and its glimmers of bravery, remains a vital part of our shared record.
The determination of all parties involved—from the legal teams to the families to the state—demonstrates the depth of the commitment to this case. It is a commitment that has been tested by time and adversity, yet it remains as strong today as it was in the beginning.
As the final moments approach, the attention of the world remains fixed on the resolution of this long-standing case. The story of Dusty Ray Spencer is a story that will not be easily forgotten, a story that serves as a testament to the enduring weight of justice and the complexity of our human experience.
It is a story that demands that we listen, that we understand, and that we continue the dialogue about what it means to seek justice in a world that is often filled with pain and uncertainty. The narrative of the Orange County backyard is, ultimately, a narrative of the human soul and its capacity for both darkness and light.
May the memory of Karen Spencer continue to guide us as we navigate these difficult and profound issues. The pursuit of truth, regardless of the time it takes, is a pursuit that is always worthy of our best efforts and our deepest considerations.
This concludes our deep investigation into the life, the crimes, and the impending end of the life of Dusty Ray Spencer. The case remains one of the most compelling and thought-provoking examples of the death penalty debate in modern times.
The facts speak for themselves, and the record stands as a testament to the events that unfolded over thirty-four years. As we look ahead, we do so with a renewed sense of the importance of vigilance, compassion, and the unwavering pursuit of justice for all.
Is there any particular aspect of the legal arguments surrounding age and execution that you would like to delve into further, or perhaps a different case that you feel highlights these same themes?
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
