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The second comes in first in our race to

chase infinity. We have split the over-

worked second into so many pieces that

billions now dance the Tango on the head

of a pin with space for flair. A batch of seconds

is what we are given at birth but without

instructions for their use and no hints for

how many we get. So, we climb aboard this

train, at sixty MPH past landscapes of

entire industries dedicated to counting

time with an equal number extolling their

products to save it. And in the end, it all

ends with the oft-fractured second ticking

on and on while still doing the Tango.

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