Tick. A second is one sixtieth of a minute, a minute one sixtieth of an hour.
Tock. I am a good man.
Tick. The day is divided into hours because the Egyptians had a love for the number twelve.
Tock. Breathe, Justin. Calm. Good men don’t die for no reason.
Tick. A clock pendulum makes the same sound as a rifle cock. Click. Read More
It is a nail. It’s stuck in a wall, but it’s not my wall.
I work on it, but I can’t figure it out. So I call Abraham Hershlow.
We grew up together, did advanced physics and honors math together, but then Abe got a scholarship and I got to work at a hardware store. Still, Abe’s a good guy. He fixed me up with the job at the university, and I’d rather be a janitor at the U than a manager at Warshaw’s Tools.
“George,” Abe says, “I’d love to help but there’s this review and…”
“Just come look,” I say. “Five minutes.”
“I can’t, George, I really can’t.”
I call him again. And the next day, and the next. Finally he comes down to my box-room in the basement.
“It’s a nail,” he says.
“But look, it’s sticking out of the wall. Out, Abe.” Read More