Betting On Zero Quotes

Immediately after the 2008 financial meltdown, it wouldn’t surprise me if 85% of American families would have had zero or negative net worth. But you can bet they have 650 cable channels streaming into their five flat-screen HDTVs.

A credit default swap was confusing mainly because it wasn’t really a swap at all. It was an insurance policy, typically on a corporate bond, with semiannual premium payments and a fixed term. For instance, you might pay $200,000 a year to buy a ten-year credit default swap on $100 million in General Electric bonds. The most you could lose was $2 million: $200,000 a year for ten years. The most you could make was $100 million, if General Electric defaulted on its debt any time in the next ten years and bondholders recovered nothing. It was a zero-sum bet: If you made $100 million, the guy who had sold you the credit default swap lost $100 million. It was also an asymmetric bet, like laying down money on a number in roulette. The most you could lose were the chips you put on the table; but if your number came up you made thirty, forty, even fifty times your money.

How many onions do you think we’ve eaten?” he asked. Zero shrugged. “I don’t even know how long we’ve been here.” “I’d say about a week,” said Stanley. “And we probably each eat about twenty onions a day, so that’s…” “Two hundred and eighty onions,” said Zero. Stanley smiled. “I bet we really stink.

From the dawn of civilization, human beings have tried to find out order in the chaotic world surrounding them. It has however never been easy to find a solution to explain a given system while being a part of that system. The best bet is to find out the most fundamental components within the system and building a theory round these. In other words, a theory that is able to describe the world in totality has to keep the number of basic postulates it depends upon to zero or near zero.

Now, I’ve never heard a rabid hyena shriek from rectal acid burns. But I’ll bet that sounds a lot like Mllsh-mllsh introducing a guest.

Life's a lot like poker. You bet on some hands, you fold some. You win some hands, you lose some. But unlike poker, life is not a zero sum game. There's enough chips in the pot for everyone.

There’s might too in the incomplete. In feeling fractional. A failure to carry out is perhaps no failure at all, but rather a minced metric of splendor. The ongoing. The outlawed. The no-patrol. The act of making loose. Of not doing as you’ve been told. Of betting on miscalculations and cul-de-sacs. Why force conciliation when, from time to time, long-held deep breaths follow what we consider defeat? Why not want a little mania? The shrill of chance, of what’s weird. Of purple hats and hiccups. Endurance is a talent that seldom worries about looking good, and abiding has its virtues even when the tongue dries. The intention shouldn’t only be to polish what we start but to acknowledge that beginning again and again can possess the acquisitive thrill of a countdown that never reaches zero. Groping

Every time you jump the fence, it looks like it's going to topple over. Would it kill you to go through the gate?" "Your dad put a lock on it," I said, "so I can't anymore." "Oh-five, oh-four, two-one," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just put in the number, use the gate like a civilized human, and maybe don't even talk to me when you retrieve your misdirected sports paraphernalia. Zero contact would be cool." "But how could I tell you how much I like your new hair if I didn't speak?

Johnny, did you ever hear of the Club of Rome?" Johnny had, but the audience would need reminding. "They were the people who did computer simulations to find out how long we could get along on our natural resources. Even with zero population growth—" "They tell us we're finished," Sharps broke in. "And that's stupid. We're only finished because they won't let us really use technology. They say we're running out of metals. There's more metal in one little asteroid than was mined all over the world in the last five years! And there are hundreds of thousands of asteroids. All we have to do is go get 'em." "Can we?" "You bet! Even with the technology we already have, we could do it. Johnny, out there in space it's raining soup, and we don't even know about soup bowls.

5.4 The question of accumulation. If life is a wager, what form does it take? At the racetrack, an accumulator is a bet which rolls on profits from the success of one of the horse to engross the stake on the next one. 5.5 So a) To what extent might human relationships be expressed in a mathematical or logical formula? And b) If so, what signs might be placed between the integers?Plus and minus, self-evidently; sometimes multiplication, and yes, division. But these sings are limited. Thus an entirely failed relationship might be expressed in terms of both loss/minus and division/ reduction, showing a total of zero; whereas an entirely successful one can be represented by both addition and multiplication. But what of most relationships? Do they not require to be expressed in notations which are logically improbable and mathematically insoluble? 5.6 Thus how might you express an accumulation containing the integers b, b, a (to the first), a (to the second), s, v? B = s - v (*/+) a (to the first) Or a (to the second) + v + a (to the first) x s = b 5.7 Or is that the wrong way to put the question and express the accumulation? Is the application of logic to the human condition in and of itself self-defeating? What becomes of a chain of argument when the links are made of different metals, each with a separate frangibility? 5.8 Or is "link" a false metaphor? 5.9 But allowing that is not, if a link breaks, wherein lies the responsibility for such breaking? On the links immediately on the other side, or on the whole chain? But what do you mean by "the whole chain"? How far do the limits of responsibility extend? 6.0 Or we might try to draw the responsibility more narrowly and apportion it more exactly. And not use equations and integers but instead express matters in the traditional narrative terminology. So, for instance, if...." - Adrian Finn

Curran smiled. “What’s so funny?” “Your panties have a bow,” he said. I looked down. I was wearing a short tank top—not mine—and my blue panties with a narrow white strip of lace at the top and a tiny white bow. Would it have killed me to check what I was wearing before I pulled the blanket down? “What’s wrong with bows?” “Nothing.” He was grinning now. “I expected barbed wire. Or one of those steel chains.” Wiseass. “I’m secure enough in myself to wear panties with bows on them. Besides, they are comfy and soft.” “I bet.” He almost purred. I gulped. Okay, I needed to either crawl back into bed and cover myself with the blanket or get the hell to the bathroom and back. Since I didn’t fancy peeing on myself, the bathroom was my only option. “I don’t suppose you’d mind giving me a bit of privacy for my trip?” “Not a chance,” he said. I tried to get off the bed. Everything was under control until my weight actually hit my legs and then the room decided to crawl sideways. Curran caught me. His arm hugged my back, his touch sending an electric shiver along my skin. Oh no. “Need some help, ass kicker?” “I’m fine, thanks.” I pushed away from him. He held on to me for a second, letting me know that he could restrain me against my will with laughable ease, and let go. I clenched my teeth. Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be back on my feet soon. I walked away from him, successfully maintaining vertical position, and zeroed in on the nearest door. “That’s the closet.

Thus, while perhaps we cannot assign a zero, almost surely, prior plausibility with regard to the existence of God, we can still make a clear statement about what direction the evidence is pushing the posterior. The posterior plausibility of the God hypothesis has been uniformly decreased as we've collected evidence that should bear upon that question. In Carrier's metaphor, the God hypotheses, in any form specific enough to consider, has lost millions of races and simply should not be bet upon to win any in the future.[25]

There was more than one way to think about Mike Burry’s purchase of a billion dollars in credit default swaps. The first was as a simple, even innocent, insurance contract. Burry made his semiannual premium payments and, in return, received protection against the default of a billion dollars’ worth of bonds. He’d either be paid zero, if the triple-B-rated bonds he’d insured proved good, or a billion dollars, if those triple-B-rated bonds went bad. But of course Mike Burry didn’t own any triple-B-rated subprime mortgage bonds, or anything like them. He had no property to “insure” it was as if he had bought fire insurance on some slum with a history of burning down. To him, as to Steve Eisman, a credit default swap wasn’t insurance at all but an outright speculative bet against the market—and this was the second way to think about it.

Credit arrangements of one kind or another have existed in all known human cultures, going back at least to ancient Sumer. The problem in previous eras was not that no one had the idea or knew how to use it. It was that people seldom wanted to extend much credit because they didn’t trust that the future would be better than the present. They generally believed that times past had been better than their own times and that the future would be worse, or at best much the same. To put that in economic terms, they believed that the total amount of wealth was limited, if not dwindling. People therefore considered it a bad bet to assume that they personally, or their kingdom, or the entire world, would be producing more wealth ten years down the line. Business looked like a zero-sum game. Of course, the profits of one particular bakery might rise, but only at the expense of the bakery next door. Venice might flourish, but only by impoverishing Genoa. The king of England might enrich himself, but only by robbing the king of France. You could cut the pie in many different ways, but it never got any bigger. That’s why many cultures concluded that making bundles of money was sinful.

The human senses are known to be astoundingly unreliable instruments, easily deceived and fallible. Would you bet everything on shoddy detection equipment? That’s what the materialists have done. Above all, they sneer at the concept of the soul (and mind) because it is something that cannot be detected with the human senses. Would the cosmic mathematical mind reject the soul? The numbers zero and infinity rationally characterize it. Why would zero and infinity be forbidden? Just because the human senses aren’t configured to detect them? Why should the dubious human senses be the determinants of what is mathematically and logically permitted to exist? Human senses are the products of evolution and are designed to allow us to live in this world; they did not evolve as organs of truth to allow us to determine the fundamental nature of reality. […] Most people alive today are irrational. Animals are irrational. […] Even scientists have demonstrated that they will force reason and logic to obey the senses rather than force the senses to obey reason and logic. The question of the existence of the soul is one for reason, not for the human senses. Lack of evidence is not evidence of absence.

Success comes with an inevitable problem: market saturation. New products initially grow just by adding more customers—to grow a network, add more nodes. Eventually this stops working because nearly everyone in the target market has joined the network, and there are not enough potential customers left. From here, the focus has to shift from adding new customers to layering on more services and revenue opportunities with existing ones. eBay had this problem in its early years, and had to figure its way out. My colleague at a16z, Jeff Jordan, experienced this himself, and would often write and speak about his first month as the general manager of eBay’s US business. It was in 2000, and for the first time ever, eBay’s US business failed to grow on a month-over-month basis. This was critical for eBay because nearly all the revenue and profit for the company came from the US unit—without growth in the United States, the entire business would stagnate. Something had to be done quickly. It’s tempting to just optimize the core business. After all, increasing a big revenue base even a little bit often looks more appealing than starting at zero. Bolder bets are risky. Yet because of the dynamics of market saturation, a product’s growth tends to slow down and not speed up. There’s no way around maintaining a high growth rate besides continuing to innovate. Jeff shared what the team did to find the next phase of growth for the company: eBay.com at the time enabled the community to buy and sell solely through online auctions. But auctions intimidated many prospective users who expressed preference for the ease and simplicity of fixed price formats. Interestingly, our research suggested that our online auction users were biased towards men, who relished the competitive aspect of the auction. So the first major innovation we pursued was to implement the (revolutionary!) concept of offering items for a fixed price on ebay.com, which we termed “buy-it-now.” Buy-it-now was surprisingly controversial to many in both the eBay community and in eBay headquarters. But we swallowed hard, took the risk and launched the feature . . . and it paid off big. These days, the buy-it-now format represents over $40 billion of annual Gross Merchandise Volume for eBay, 62% of their total.65

Maybe he got me one of those two-necklace sets, the ones with the halved hearts, I thought, and he’ll wear one half and I’ll wear the other. I couldn’t exactly picture it, but Marlboro Man had never been above surprising me. Then again, we were walking toward a barn. Maybe it was a piece of furniture for the house we’d been working on--a love seat, perhaps. Oh, wouldn’t that be the most darling of wedding gifts? A love seat? I’ll bet it’s upholstered in cowhide, I thought, or maybe some old western brocade fabric. I’d always loved those fabrics in the old John Wayne movies. Maybe its legs are made of horns! It just had to be furniture. Maybe it was a new bed. A bed on which all the magic of the world would take place, where our children--whether one or six--would be conceived, where the prairie would ignite in an explosion of passion and lust, where… Or maybe it’s a puppy. Oh, yes! That has to be it, I told myself. It’s probably a puppy--a pug, even, in tribute to the first time I broke down and cried in front of him! Oh my gosh--he’s replacing Puggy Sue, I thought. He waited until we were close enough to the wedding, but he doesn’t want the pup to get any bigger before he gives it to me. Oh, Marlboro Man…you may have just zeroed in on what could possibly be the single most romantic thing you ever could have done for me. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect love gift. A pug would be the perfect bridge between my old world and my new, a permanent and furry reminder of my old life on the golf course. As Marlboro Man slid open the huge barn doors and flipped on the enormous lights mounted to the beams, my heart began beating quickly. I couldn’t wait to smell its puppy breath.

My jaw clenched, and Terrence’s eyes zeroed right in on it. He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. You’re still fighting it. I bet you’ll come around. And my guess is, this isn’t the last time I’ll be seeing you in this pew, either.” He stood and held out his hand. “But until then, keep the application and take some advice from an old man who has learned from more mistakes than you even realize you’re capable of making yet. One man’s overlooked blessing is soon another man’s gain.

Many people are so miserable that they do not want to enter the future at all. Their whole future projected life is worthless to them. In technical terms, their utility over all future time intervals, appropriately discounted, is less than zero. Also, their current utility (present circumstance) is zero or negative (otherwise they'd stick around a bit longer to pick up extra utility). • Suicide is one option for such people. But there are two other options, according to Becker & Posner (terminology is mine): • Take what you have and "bet" it on a chance at something that would make life worth living. If it fails, you can always kill yourself. (Gamble) • Since there is an element of uncertainty to the future, take what you have and use it to make the present livable so you can postpone suicide. Something to make life worth living might be just around the corner. If not, you can always kill yourself. (Palliate & Wait)

Let me guess. Reagan’s pregnant and you’re scared shitless,” he deadpans. All the blood drains from Pete’s face. “What? Reagan’s pregnant?” He looks at each of us in turn. “Oh, fuck,” Paul says. “You didn’t know.” “How the fuck did you know and I didn’t?” Pete says, his voice rising. “We didn’t know,” Matt says. “He was just guessing, because all of us, aside from Sam, came to him when we had one on the way.” Matt glares at Paul. “Why did you have to go and ruin it?” “Hell, I thought everyone knew. She’s been sick for the past week.” “Bad shrimp,” Pete says. “Bad shrimp wouldn’t make her throw up every morning,” Logan chimes in. He can speak when he wants to. “She’s knocked up.” Pete sinks down in a chair like his legs have turned to noodles. Logan raises his hand. “When I suspected Em was pregnant and I came to spill my guts to Paul, it was because Em’s boobs were getting bigger.” “Sky’s did too,” Matt chimes in. Paul nods. “Same here.” Pete looks around the room. “Reagan’s boobs are bigger, and she’s sick every morning. And afternoon. Hell, even in the evening.” He smiles, and I imagine I can see stars floating in the air around his head. “I’m going to be a dad?” “Sorry we ruined the surprise. We’ve had bets going for a whole week to find out if you’d realize it before Reagan does.” Matt shrugs. “One of you could have told me!” Pete cries. But he’s grinning like a damn fool. He points around the room at each of us. “So, which of you bet Reagan would know first?” I raise my hand. I figured she’s the one with the uterus, so she’d realize it before Pete did. “You lost, little brother,” Paul says. He walks by me and squeezes my shoulder. “Doesn’t count if you tell him,” I complain. Paul wraps his beefy arm around Pete’s head and gives him a noogie. Pete’s still in la-la land though, so he doesn’t even struggle. “Stop and get a test on the way home,” Matt tells him. “Okay.” Pete’s still star-struck. “Wait,” I say. “If you didn’t want to tell us Reagan’s pregnant, what did you call me here for?” Pete throws up his hands. “Hell, I can’t remember.

Alex whispers, “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Maybe you’re confusing your emotions.” I scoot away from him. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” “I would.” Alex’s gaze turns toward the door to the classroom. Through the window, his friend is waving to him. They’re probably going to ditch class. Alex grabs his books and stands. Mrs. Peterson turns around. “Alex, sit down.” “I got to piss.” The teacher’s eyebrows furrow and her hand goes to her hip. “Watch your language. And the last time I checked, you don’t need your books in order to go to the restroom. Put them back on the lab table.” Alex’s lips are tight, but he places the books back on the table. “I told you no gang-related items in my class,” Mrs. Peterson says, staring at the bandanna he’s holding in front of him. She holds out her hand. “Hand it over.” He glances at the door, then faces Mrs. Peterson. “What if I refuse?” “Alex, don’t test me. Zero tolerance. You want a suspension?” She wiggles her fingers, signaling to hand the bandana over immediately or else. Scowling, he slowly places the bandana in her hand. Mrs. Peterson sucks in her breath when she snatches the bandanna from his fingers. I screech, “Ohmygod!” at the sight of the big stain on his crotch. The students, one by one, start laughing. Colin laughs the loudest. “Don’t sweat it, Fuentes. My great-grandma has the same problem. Nothing a diaper won’t fix.” Now that hits home because at the mention of adult diapers, I immediately think of my sister. Making fun of adults who can’t help themselves isn’t funny because Shelley is one of those people. Alex sports a big, cocky grin and says to Colin, “Your girlfriend couldn’t keep her hands out of my pants. She was showin’ me a whole new definition of hand warmers, compa.” This time he’s gone too far. I stand up, my stool scraping the floor. “You wish,” I say. Alex is about to say something to me when Mrs. Peterson yells, “Alex!” She clears her throat. “Go to the nurse and…fix yourself. Take your books, because afterward you’ll be seeing Dr. Aguirre. I’ll meet you in his office with your friends Colin and Brittany.” Alex swipes his books off the table and exits the classroom while I ease back onto my stool. While Mrs. Peterson is trying to calm the rest of the class, I think about my short-lived success in avoiding Carmen Sanchez. If she thinks I’m a threat to her relationship with Alex, the rumors that are sure to spread today could prove deadly.

It wasn’t playing both sides of the fence – it was betting against yourself but still playing to win – and it encapsulated everything absurd and paradoxical that I loved about the French.

The problem is that many mathematicians have done the same thing Riemann himself did: surged ahead using the prime counting method , assuming that someone would prove it later on. It looks like a safe bet: as we know, using computers, the first 10 trillion zeroes have been checked, and all of them are on that line. That said, mathematical theories have been disproved with numbers bigger than that, so there could be a zero off the line that we've simply not reached yet.

Seconds crawled by, turning into minutes that felt like hours. I must have checked my watch a thousand times, whereas the man sitting opposite me sprawled in his seat, his finger resting near the trigger of his assault rifle, eyes half-closed. Although I’d bet if anything happened, he’d go from zero to a hundred in the time it took me to blink. For him, this was just his job, whereas for me, it was my life. She was my life. And it had taken her being snatched for me to realize how much I loved her.

At one such tournament, I told the audience that one player would win 76% of the time and the other would win 24% of the time. I dealt the remaining cards, the last of which turned the 24% hand into the winner. Amid the cheers and groans, someone in the audience called out, “Annie, you were wrong!” In the same spirit that he said it, I explained that I wasn’t. “I said that would happen 24% of the time. That’s not zero. You got to see part of the 24%!

JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS, the Neumanns boarded Wildgoose I for another winter holiday in Hanalei Bay. Adam was planning to surf again, this time with Laird Hamilton, one of the sport’s legends. WeWork was finalizing a deal, modest by Fortitude standards, to lead a $32 million investment round in Laird Superfood, Hamilton’s company, which sold turmeric and mushroom-infused coffee creamers. Adam’s wave pool investment hadn’t panned out, and WeWork slashed the value of its stake to zero after Wavegarden had trouble selling its $16 million “coves.” But the Laird Superfood bet had less to do with surfing than with doubling down on the nutritional coffee-creamer industry, much as Masa poured money into multiple food delivery apps. If the DeCicco brothers couldn’t change America’s food paradigm, maybe Laird Hamilton would.

was able to quip, “Aw, I bet you say that to all the lost ladies.” This earned me a wider smile. “As a matter of fact, no. I don’t make a habit of coming upon lost ladies all that often. But when I do, they all have irresistible dimples and they all seem to be you.” I returned his smile, unable to help myself. Man, he was a great flirt. Like really, really great. He was able to slip in a compliment and make it sound like a fact. As well, his creepiness and cheesiness factor was a big fat zero. He made my heart beat faster, and yet he seemed entirely relaxed and unaffected

one should give the complete commitment to their ventures. But in terms of money and resources, one shall never bet more than what one can afford to lose.

one shall never bet more than what one can afford to lose.

In Brazil, the rainforests of the Amazon are being destroyed at an alarming rate by bulldozing and burning. There are many excellent reasons to prevent this continuing – loss of habitat for organisms, production of carbon dioxide from burning trees, destruction of the culture of native Indian tribes, and so on. What is not a good reason, though, is the phrase that is almost inevitably trotted out, to the effect that the rainforests are the ‘lungs of the planet’. The image here is that the ‘civilized’ regions – that is, the industrialized ones – are net producers of carbon dioxide. The pristine rainforest, in contrast, produces a gentle but enormous oxygen breeze, while absorbing the excess carbon dioxide produced by all those nasty people with cars. It must do, surely? A forest is full of plants, and plants produce oxygen. No, they don’t. The net oxygen production of a rainforest is, on average, zero. Trees produce carbon dioxide at night, when they are not photosynthesizing. They lock up oxygen and carbon into sugars, yes – but when they die, they rot, and release carbon dioxide. Forests can indirectly remove carbon dioxide by removing carbon and locking it up as coal or peat, and by releasing oxygen into the atmosphere. Ironically, that’s where a lot of the human production of carbon dioxide comes from – we dig it up and burn it again, using up the same amount of oxygen. If the theory that oil is the remains of plants from the carboniferous period is true, then our cars are burning up carbon that was once laid down by plants. Even if an alternative theory, growing in popularity, is true, and oil was produced by bacteria, then the problem remains the same. Either way, if you burn a rainforest you add a one-off surplus of carbon dioxide to the atmosphere, but you do not also reduce the Earth’s capacity to generate new oxygen. If you want to reduce atmospheric carbon dioxide permanently, and not just cut short-term emissions, the best bet is to build up a big library at home, locking carbon into paper, or put plenty of asphalt on roads. These don’t sound like ‘green’ activities, but they are. You can cycle on the roads if it makes you feel better.

Ideally, our happiness would depend on how things turn out for us regardless of how things turn out for anyone else. Yet, on a fundamental level, fielding someone’s bad outcome as their fault feels good to us. On a fundamental level, fielding someone’s good outcome as luck helps our narrative along. This outcome fielding follows a logical pattern in zero-sum games like poker. When I am competing head-to-head in a poker hand, I must follow this fielding pattern to square my self-serving interpretation of my own outcomes with the outcomes of my opponent. If I win a hand in poker, my opponent loses. If I lose a hand in poker, my opponent wins. Wins and losses are symmetrical. If I field my win as having to do with my skillful play, then my opponent in the hand must have lost because of their less skillful play. Likewise, if I field my loss as having to do with luck, then my opponent must have won due to luck as well. Any other interpretation would create cognitive dissonance.

When playing a bear market, the same rules hold: You want to diversify your risks, especially knowing that collapses move even faster than rallies. You need to decide how much safe cash or near cash you want to hold to sleep at night and to handle financial emergencies, like the loss of your job or your house. Then decide how much to put into longer-term high-quality bonds, like those 30-year Treasuries and AAA corporates, but I think it’s still premature to make this move at the time of this writing, in August 2017. Then decide how much you want to put into a dollar bull fund or the ETF UUP, which tracks the U.S. dollar versus its six major trading partners. If you’re willing to risk part of your wealth, you can also bet on financial assets going down—from stocks to gold. Stocks are the one type of financial asset that goes down in either a deflationary crisis, like the 1930s, or an inflationary one, like the 1970s. So shorting stocks is the best way to prosper in the downturn, either way. But don’t leverage this bet. The markets are simply too volatile. You can short the stock market with no leverage by simply buying an ETF (exchange-traded fund) like the ProShares Short S&P 500 (NYSEArca: SH). It’s an inverse fund on the S&P 500, so if the index goes down 50 percent, you make 50 percent. The ProShares Ultrashort (NYSEArca: QID) is double short the NASDAQ 100, which is likely to get hit the worst. If you make this play, just do a half share, to avoid that two-times leverage (hold the other half in cash or short-term bonds). Direxion Daily Small Cap Bear 3X ETF (NYSEArca: TZA) is triple short the Russell 2000, which is also likely to lead on the way down. So buy only a one-third share of this one, to remain without leverage. (That means the money you allocate here should be one-third in TZA and two-thirds in cash, to offset the leverage.) And unlike the gold bugs, I see gold collapsing. It’s an inflation hedge, not a deflation hedge. If gold rallies back as high as $1,425—on my predicted bear-market rally—then it could easily drop to around $700 within a year. Your last decision is whether to risk some of your funds betting on gold’s downside, for the greatest potential returns. You can buy DB Gold Double Short ETN (NYSEArca: DZZ)—double short gold—at a half share, to offset the leverage, or just simply short GLD, the ETF that follows gold. There you have it. How to handle the coming crash.

I wonder who she was," said Zero. "Who?" "Mary Lou," said Zero. Stanley smiled. "I guess she was once a real person on a real lake. It's hard to imagine." "I bet she was pretty," said Zero. "Somebody must have loved her a lot, to name a boat after her." "Yeah," said Stanley. "I bet she looked great in a bathing suit, sitting in the boat while her boyfriend rowed.

the difference between high tide and low tides was 32 miles,

A single dot on a canvas is not a painting and a single bet cannot resolve a complex theoretical dispute. This will take many questions and question clusters. Of course it’s possible that if large numbers of questions are asked, each side may be right on some forecasts but wrong on others and the final outcome won’t generate the banner headlines that celebrity bets sometimes do. But as software engineers say, that’s a feature, not a bug. A major point of view rarely has zero merit, and if a forecasting contest produces a split decision we will have learned that the reality is more mixed than either side thought. If learning, not gloating, is the goal, that is progress.

Lucas knows, yeah. The last seven, eight years, there’s been funny stuff out there, out on the console cowboy circuit. The new jockeys, they make deals with things, don’t they, Lucas? Yeah, you bet I know; they still need the hard and the soft, and they still gotta be faster than snakes on ice, but all of ’em, all the ones who really know how to cut it, they got allies, don’t they, Lucas?

I’d bet another hundred thousand quid that he deliberately wore a shirt that was half a size too small so his muscles looked bigger. One point for ego, zero for style.

Appalachian sense of politeness that had annoyed me during our last case. Right now, I had the urge to shake the other woman. There was zero chance I’d let her leave without telling me why she was here. “It’s six-thirty on a Friday evening in the middle of December. We’ve faced danger and death together, but we don’t stop by each other’s towns for friendly visits. As a matter of fact, I would be happier if I never stepped foot in Possum Gap again. With my town’s reputation, I’m willing to bet that you feel the same way about Blood Rock. I’m asking again. Why are you here, Sadie?” The wind caught Sadie’s brown, shoulder-length hair, but she made no attempt to control it as she pushed off the car. “Murder, Serenity. I’m here because of a murder.