#982 The Black Clock

I am sitting in an empty computer helpdesk, and I am the only person in the entire building. The air conditioner has been turned off for the weekend, and the leather couch is calling my name. Rarely in my life do I experience absolute silence: this ain't no rural Michigan, and I ain't no farmer of genetically modified grain. I have nothing pressing to do, I have no responsibilities at this juncture, I am completely at peace, and there's no sign of inter-

TICK FUCKING TOCK I'M A MOTHERFUCKING CLOCK THAT HAS COMETH TO RAINETH ON YOUR PARADE-TH, SIMPLETON!

The black clock, only a few feet from where I sit, menacingly spins its thin red second hand. Fuck the manufacturing process, I smell the devil is afoot. You don't even spin evenly, I don't think, you cocky, French lesbian. Every second you pound out is another perversion of my eardrums, my personal space is invaded by your insistence on piercing my soul. Spare me your excuses, and spare me your inanimacy: I know your true nature is to harass and belittle me.

Please, black clock, I beg you, black clock, if it were any other day, black clock, I'd let you tick away, black clock. Today, however, I just want to sit on the leather couch in peace, while the time you imitate so willingly passes to the end of my work shift.

Please, black clock, pretty please, black clock?

Thank you black clock, you listened. We truly are friends, aren't we, black clock? I love you, black clock, don't ever leave me.