The clock on the wall is old school, not digital. It clacks in a click-clack way, every other click is slightly different than the previous one, and different than the one that follows. The bathtub also drips. It drips slightly faster, maybe about 2.7 drips per second. When these two sounds overlap, when I am laying down to sleep, I catch moments where they intersect.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...