Jimmy Makes an Impulse Buy and Alters His Space-Time Continuum

I have no five o'clock. What I mean is there's a gap. Empty space. Nothing. I never have a five o'clock. Let me explain. It was in the window of the junk shop between a case of pocketknives and a large hanging diagram of the human vascular system which is, I have to say, offensive as hell. That orderly red and blue map of comings and goings has got to be a total misrepresentation. I'm sure things look nothing like that once you get inside. Anyway, sitting there between the knives and the veins was this clock. I was drawn to the face, I think: gold numbers across polished redwood burl. Sure, I thought. Why not. A clock. I didn't have one. Didn't really need one. I've always been pretty good with time, but I thought it might be nice to have a firmer grip, you know? Boy, was I wrong. It wasn't until I got the thing home that I realized the five was missing. Totally gone. I guess I didn't look closely in the window, and the clerk was quick to wrap it in newspaper and bag it. So, you could certainly argue that I brought this all on myself. It's my fault. I didn't check. But one assumes hours are going to be where they belong, right? 

The first thing I did was stop drinking. Initially, skipping happy hour seemed sad. But when I realized I wasn't really skipping it but rather it didn't exist, I felt much better. Five A.M. is a little trickier. I can't say for sure what goes on. All I know is I'm always there for six A.M., jolted back between cold sheets. At that point, I usually figure what's the use. I'm up. I start making coffee and toast.

So, here I am. Every day, two gaps. Is it disruptive? You're goddamn right it is. But I manage. What else can I do? It's out of my hands. I don't make the rules. But I'll tell you what—I've got a hunch that somewhere in those voids, I just might.