I have no idea how tired or drunk I was when I wrote this, but I found it among my other blog notes so I thought I would post it here to give you a view into the way my mind works when exhausted. I have left it in its unedited state to preserve whatever the hell I was going for at the time, which was September 8 according to the file data.
Sitting in an uncomfortable car seat, waiting for the clockwork man to make his clockwork appearance, I observe the cogs of the world move.
He moves slowly, and his motions would be fluid if it were not for the jerking of his crank.
Teetering on the edge of his balcony, the little man drops his hammer, and the bell does not toll.
Man is not made for routine.