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Storming out of the house after a fight with my wife, I met a grimy old man wearing a shabby overcoat and playing the saxophone. His white hair stood straight out like a halo around his head, and a thick, white mustache covered the instrument's mouthpiece as he played. I startled; that face belonged to the most famous intellect of modern times. If he was who he seemed, crowds should have been gathering, reporters clamoring for interviews, but nobody recognized him as anything other than an old homeless man--no one, that is, except me.
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