I once restored a 1950s timepiece for a customer who waxed lyrical about the intricacies of my work – all the while refusing to pay.
They baulked when I presented them with the bill we’d previously agreed on. Then they garbled on about the philosophical nature of time, still resisting payment.
It was during that wistful, skyward narrative that I saw the timepiece slip from their hand and hit the marble floor. The mineral glass shattered, sending the hands spiralling.
Sunlight streamed in from the winter setting Sun – its sharp, angular rays reminding me of how our ancient ancestors…
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