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97 Notes Concerning the Universal Truth As you kneel to tie your shoe the man you should marry strolls by in no hurry to his psychotic girlfriend, his eye looking for new love. It happens like this. Your friend passes a bottle of water as you merge too quickly, setting in motion a nine car pileup, killing a researcher who, seconds before, made mental notes on a correct theory curing cancer, and you drive away, oblivious, talking of nothing, thirsty for more. This is it: a world of chance. Events in motion spiraling around us, buffeted by our half-hearted backhanded comments, gestures, and inertia. Not a place to understand, not a place inviting the planning of next year, but we dredge ourselves from the mattress each morning and tread water to work. Sometimes it’s for the better, like when on line at the bank. You handicap the pensioners, judge 98 numbers of their checks, divide by speed of the tellers, then choose a queue. Someone blows their nose an extra time, someone’s car didn’t start on first try, and it works: you step to the window of the woman with car crash-causing lips, eyes which make even myopic men linger, and her smile says now; it is the smile of here. You place your checks on her counter, give her all you have, and say walk me through this, please. ...

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