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You are wrong she said. I am an authority.

No, No, No. I insisted that this historical bit of architecture had been moved to its present location.

She averred that the house had been built on that site.
I am an authority.

I knew that she was
(The Authority)

And I knew that I was right.

(You are soooo mistaken.)

I am an authority.

(She is The Authority; Am I in early dementia?)

I sat and I thought. I remembered the events from years past that had created my belief.

I scanned the jelly in my skull, perusing the hundreds of essays I have written over the years about the folly of rushing to conclusions, the dangers of not examining evidence, the importance of objectivity, the foolishness of rushing to rationalize those alluring leaps to the leering looniness masquerading as lucidity.

I discovered two erroneous assumptions. I was wrong. Not about the conclusion; that was a mistake. I was wrong because I strayed from my path. I was wrong because I had held my belief in higher esteem than a Sister of the Path.

I filled out the one remaining form.

“You are right”.

I know.

Later I shared the story with a friend.

You silly man. As a student in my teens I saw that ugly house with its trashy tenants every morning on my way to school.

You can be such a fool.

You silly man.

By Lee Broom.

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