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Inside of things are other things. Things of immense size, dwarven galaxies crossing limitless expanses. Outside there exists equally diametrically sized atoms and particles crossing equally limitless expants. Somewhere upon this foam is a beer which turned inside out becomes a bar, a patron and a band. A band of soccer holligans, a city, a country, a world. Thereupon the world turns, turns into a galaxy itself which itself folds down upon and into a quark, gluon and beyond. To the edge occam, your razor is nothing but a dull moonlight in the daytime. A universe of suns and microverse of neutrinos sings your requiem to the dark.