I hang awake all night, watching the office, though that’s not my job. I hang awake, and the spirals in my stomach churn. I hang awake, and I can’t hold my hands still – I was born with three of them! I hang on.
I watch them all come in: he always comes in late – guilty for his lateness – never looking at me, and I start to hope the rest of the day will go that way. But I catch him looking at me everyday, more frequently when I’m about to spread my legs – um, my hands – 120 degrees apart, from the spire of Noon to the cliff that separates the Kazbah from the Smooth Drive.
Seeing this, he smiles, and starts to clear his table. Then he begins to undo his tie. ‘What next? His belt and his zipper?’ I try to shout ‘Rape!’, but my alarm is broken. This happens everyday, and nobody stops him.
The ladies start to powder their faces and gloss their lips after looking and batting their lashes – I think – at me. ‘Humans don’t entice me! I am a clock!