Day CCLII

Slow Moving Clock

     “We gots some, but not like dem two.”

     “They tells ya wat they gon do?”

     “Nah, Morgana sed she was gon quit, sompen bout goinna beauty school. An Sonia jest said she wuz gon twy sompen else. Din’t sez wat tho.”

     “Y’all ain’t dwinking nathan?”

     “Nah, not diz time, man.”

     So we left, and went straight to George’s place. On they way I lit up again, I must have smoked at least three packs since Sunday. I had dragon breath, and my clothes reeked of nicotine. By then it was almost ten O’clock, and the acid wasn’t wearing off…I was still tripping like I was when I first started. We spent the night drinking wine, talking about chicks, the Yanks, the Knicks, anything to pass the time. We were listening to music, really low, with the TV on at the same time, and not really paying attention to either, when the TV went off the air. Then suddenly its black and white, noisy, and dizzying pattern appeared, and it was on every channel we tried. So George turned it off. It was three in the morning when we started playing cards, we played every game we could think of, and then made some up. Time was creeping along, because we were aware of it, and kept looking at the damned clock, which in our far out minds seemed to make it move ever so much more slowly. When you look at the clock every few minutes, it seems like it’s not moving at all, like it’s waiting for you not to look at it, so it can sneak a move on you. So it went with us, minutes seemed like hours, and hours seemed like they would last for ever. So we stopped looking at it, and it smiled upon us, and suddenly it was eight in the morning of the third day.