I no longer own any clocks with hands, but I still feel them there in quiet moments; ghost-like tendrils wrapped around my neck, holding my arms and legs pinned down.
Idle hands do the devil's work. But time's hands can make it impossible to even do that.
You're watching the minutes tick by at your shitty job, and though these days I like mine, I still feel your pain. There's a lot to be said for packing it in, stick your thumb out, eat from bins, scam some dosh from Centrelink, there's no better time to quit.
Put the wrists of time in hand-cuffs.
What I do for a living is live, and I still think it's cool to read Crimethinc.
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