Kickass, the doorstop dog, says the keeper’s ancient Timex—after countless batteries, has finally decided to retire. The keeper is going along with the flow by experimenting with the sensation of not knowing what time it is.
He says he likes it. A certain preoccupation with the passage to time had seeped into the keeper’s psyche and was threatening to undermine the concern over minutes if not days and certainly years. The missing watch somehow cured that.
What time is it? Who gives a damn! You’re here. I’m here, and let’s have a wee sip of brandy to toast this moment.