Sixty seconds.

Sometimes it’s a hot minute. A short, sizzling instant, or a more prolonged smolder.

Sometimes it’s only a minute. Just a minute, to be taken advantage of, trifled with, endured. Just wait a minute. It’s not so difficult.

Other times it is the collective body of the agonizingly small, the detailed, the meticulous, possibly the unimportant, the cousin of the minuscule.

But there is nothing trivial about sixty seconds.

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