What's your name, I watch. The clock does not respond, not even ticking. He stopped. Still the same. Eleven hours and sixteen minutes, forty seconds. He stopped, and there is silence in the house.
We are still together, for years. The clock never responds, never asks. Just me, sometimes, the address a few questions.
Ah, he's happier than me. Eleven, sixteen, forty-three. He was arrested there at the height of its activity. Even if its mechanism is damaged, decay, even though he was forever denied the chance to get back on their bikes, he did not care. Continue to say, eleven, sixteen, forty-three. Every time I see it, every time I wonder.
I put it on your wrist and go out. Night. The city is dead, nobody, nothing, not even absence. I walk without torment or peace. Walking drawing lines on the walls with white chalk. The city is shrouded in a web of my tracks. Sometimes I look at the time. Eleven, four forty-three p.m.. Sometimes I wish someone asked me the time.
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