Monday, 24 September 2007


I visited an old man today. He was very deaf. I almost had to shout my questions at him. His friend answered most of them for him, as she peered myopically at me through her thick lenses. Her eyes seemed huge, like those of a baby seal.
The man was particulary proud of his clocks. He got up unsteadily, and shuffled across the floor, then leaned rather heavily and precariously on his clock radio for support. He peered at the wall and pressed a button on a large, garish clock. It sprang into life. Mechanisms whirred, it flashed lights and started to play a tune. It was truly awful. He grimaced. It was playing the tune he disliked most. He stared at it for a while, as if it was tormenting him on purpose.

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