Clock

CLOCK 

I had just moved into my new apartment in Seattle, finished unpacking the last box of useless junk (must get rid of that by the way) and hung the last of the posters and sunk down onto my new neon green futon. When the doorbell rings. I sighed and, with great effort, hauled myself out of the futon. I went to the door and barked “what!?” and without an answer my sister comes barging in, huge handbag swinging gaily from her arm,  shades balancing on her freshly  cut blond hair and an absurd amount of makeup plastered on her face. “Hey there Jo! Jeez! Is that what you wear for company? Tut tut. Mom would be ashamed of you.” She turned around as though to admire my apartment, making sure I didn’t miss her new knee high boots and skinny jeans with a probably real leather jacket to make the thing come together. “not exactly new York style but it will do for you!” she turned again to the wall next to the kitchen “wow, why do you still have dads old clock? I mean come on!” I looked at the shabby old clock and smiled. I knew what she meant. The background was peeling and some cracks had started to appear, it signaled it was 12 pm but made no noise at all. The hands looked as though at the slightest breeze they would crumble to dust. There were two holes where it looked like you would wind it but I’ve never had to so far. “I like it Clair. Now if you could please admire the other side of my door. I’m a bit tired”