A 4, like the fin of a shark. Of course that is what I would see. It was inevitable the comparison would occur to me. I’m getting used to my obsession, even getting rather fond of it, like the annoying but familiar tics of the lift machinery in an apartment I rented in Manhattan. The human mind is a device for seeing patterns. We can see faces in clouds, myths in the stars. My mind has a sort of dent, and that dent is shaped like a shark, so all the patterns and possibilities I see fall into that form. Of course a number 4 is a dorsal fin. So are black buttons and crescent moons. So are zeppelins and sushi and Madonna’s conical bra. If you venture twenty-two million nine hundred and thirty-one thousand or so digits into the digits of Pi, you will find 4 occurring eight times in succession. Should I attribute significance to that as well? I can find sharks in the patterns in a whisky glass, sharks in my kolokitho keftedes.