The clock wouldn’t move. It just stayed in the same hour. It moved, yes, but with punishing forethought. The colors, he thought, which would he use? The showing was next week and he was stuck in the office, calling. No shade to this, and none from it. It was the constancy that was the barbed filibuster in his days.
“Did you call the Smith account?” Slime Brain asked.
“Not yet, I was, uh, working on something.”
“I need that done.” He walked back into his office to do nothing as they always did.
He went back to sketching, writing down colors that were on his immediacy, in his vision. He sketched, saw Mud Mind walk by. He wanted to be caught, fired, released, freed.