The genius came from a family of merchants with social aspirations, who had built their fortunes up over three generations without formal educations. The genius was never worried about where his next meal was coming from and so his mind was free to consider worthier concerns. The genius lived in a very small room with a triangular roof at the top of a building in a busy city, with a circular window and no television. The genius was educated at a young age in languages besides his native tongue. The genius did not excel at school work, not exactly, but was certainly diligent, perhaps he was simply biding his time. Surviving school reports show that that the genius's headmaster did not have high hopes for the genius's future. The genius had distinctive hair, poor eyesight, and inexpensive trousers. The genius married in his early thirties, blissfully unaware that his best work was now, not incidentally, behind him. The genius only really had his most profound insights in the twilight of his old age, his world thrown into stark relief by the inevitability of death. The genius was effortlessly prolific throughout the course of his short life. The genius had no close friends and his burial site is unknown. The genius's birthplace has a profitable gift shop, and the hourly guided tours are popular with tourists. The genius wrote in a language of his own devising, which you need a prism and mirror to read. The genius kept every single item in his house logged in a giant manifest or ledger- each teaspoon and toothpick had its own serial number and entry in the book, which he updated daily, driving his household to distraction. The genius often left personal belongings behind in taxis and on people's sofas. The genius was mortally afraid of public speaking and indeed of social interaction of any kind, sabotaging his chances at success and advancement. The genius would often sit and gaze enraptured at everyday objects, such as knots and dust balls, for many hours, and could only be roused with a loud noise like a dog's bark or a large book dropped on the table. The genius was always forgetting his own phone number, his own niece's name, his online bank details. The genius never stopped asking questions, often naive ones, like a child, which made strangers think him almost an imbecile. The genius had a fondness for dogs, an aversion to cats and a mortal fear of snails, the latter fact which he confided only to his diary.
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