On a birthday, one has the tendency to examine one's life. I am never satisfied. The writer Charles Bukowski's tombstone and epitaph say it best, devoid of pretense and typical flowery poetic language. I'd like to make a toast "Here is to the Genuinely Disatisfied". I going to Aqueduct and try to forget about all the ambitious go-getters. Remember "horses don't bet on people and neither do I"
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