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Moved, Lost Your Number The world is made of math, at which I suck. It’s tax and markets, physics theory, string vibrating at the base of everything, string deep inside each atom, proton, quark, string singing something math says gives the world like, ten dimensions. Music of the spheres turns out to be the truth, though I can’t prove that, or time travel. You put any stock in what my mom says, “Three moves are one fire,” then twenty moves in the past eighteen years is six point six six six . . . the sixes, twirled into infinities, leave no scrap squirreled away to call you with, won’t say which move was pyromania, which plain bad luck. 23 HadawayRevisedPages 8/15/06 3:09 PM Page 23 ...

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