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Weekly Contest #360
I always believed that time was something a man possessed until he had wasted it. This was wrong, though I came to know it too late, and by then the knowledge had not enlightened me so much as reduced the portion of me still capable of understanding it. Time is not spent; it passes through us, taking what it requires, and leaves behind some arrangement of memory by which a life may be mistaken for a continuous thing. Mine is no longer continuous. The first sign was small enough to be forgiven, which is how such things begin. A man...
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