Here in this small apartment I, the old Granfather Clock, stand by the door watching.

The women, I believe she is called Wife, scurries about glancing my way, waiting. Soon she settles on the couch and stares and waits.

It's thirty-five seconds till seven. I fight the urge to jump ahead and make her stop stareing.

If you have by any chance wondered why or how a clock could possible be correct one day and the next day be ahead this is why. We do not like staring so we jump to make it stop. It does not take much to go from thrity-five seconds to thirty-five minutes ahead.

Just on time the woman jumps up and hurries out the door without so much as a goodbye.

Now it is man's, if I am correct he is Husband, turn. He moves slowly taking his time.

When eight o'clock comes I chim as loudly as I can. The man continues to take his time. He'll be late again.

Then soon enough he is gone. The apartment is filled only by keeping of time.

Oh, how boring it is to have only yourself to listen and respond.

The day drags on. I wish for Husband and Wife to return. Atleast then I will not be so aware of every second.

Wait! What is that sound? It's not the same sound I hear when woman and man return, but it is similar.

That face is different. I think it is also some strange form of man but not the one I know. Three more follow.

They look around.

One goes out of sight and returns with a sack of things. He looks at me and alerts the others.

Now they all stare at me. I jump ahead without thinking.

They are gathering. I can't keep the seconds right.

They are touching me. I don't like this.

They have something over me. We are moving.

This may not be the first time but I sure will never get use to it.