“And flew back to Phoenix to finish the year as it started…”

Rising from ashes, one line traced from the previous to the next, a trail of dactyls leaping forth in rules of 3. That’s the limit: it can’t be the same, it can’t be any more. One knows exactly where one is, what one looks like, and can tell it to anyone one wants.

Mario 1, not 3: you can’t go back.

“…When I said, ‘I hate what I've become’, I lied: I hated who I was…”