Fridays are like that

Something from last Friday:

You spend several minutes enchanted by the thought that, by Erdös! walking is discrete motion, made of separate steps, and bicycling is a continuous method of transit! Then you start fantasizing about nailing smaller and smaller shoes to a wheel, boots of arbitrarily diminutive size epsilon — and then you shudder and say “It’s Friday! Dear empty heavens, if it was Wednesday, I’d be dead before the weekend.”

It’s Wednesday now, and things aren’t quite that bad yet.

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