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It's all he sees. Everything is made from them. His eyes pull out, twist, highlight, and imagine the lines. He counts them - adds and subtracts. Even things curved and cirucular contain them; minute, small lines shifting ever so slightly in angle until the curve is formed.
There is no stopping it. The lines drive him crazy. The world would be nothing without the lines and he is obssessed with them.
He knew of his insanity and asked to be put in a room. There are four walls and they are white. A large picture hangs on one of the walls, and it contains all the lines he will ever need.