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June 4, 2005

From the Comments: Allah

The dealer had begged him not to wear it.

It's an antique, he'd said. The gears are ground, the springs sprung. "Put a battery in and in two months, it'll be junk."

That was five years ago.

He sat hunched at a corner table, his wrist beside the bottle, his eyes focused through tears on the tiny, struggling hands.

He remembered the repairman shaking his head. "Six months ago, maybe. But now...."

The hands shuddered. He stared, red and yellow stinging his eyes. One glove pointed at eleven, the other not quite at twelve.

Frozen.

He sobbed. "Godspeed, Mickey. Godspeed."

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