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A meteor falls from the sky and destroys my car.
An old lady in a sports car unrelentingly tailgates me on the freeway.
A man in a Mercedes-Benz sits at the side of the highway with his head resting against the steering wheel, a gun in his left hand pointing to his brain just as I happen to drive past him.

Winning the lottery.
On the day of your wedding, your funeral, your tax audit, criminal trial.

The sky a color purple.

Winning an award instead of the artist who helped discover you. (Happened to Rabindranath Tagore, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, before W.B. Yeats in 1923 who helped publish him in English.)

Reading a book, watching a movie that’ll literally change your life from that point on.

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