The Wistful Campus
“You’re holding it too tight, Arthur.” I looked down at my hands, then at the watch. It was a heavy thing, a chronometer with a brass casing and a face of deep, midnight blue, bound by a leather strap that had long since worn soft and brown as old blood. I was holding it by the crown, my knuckles white against the metal, as if I were strangling it. Or perhaps I was just trying to make it stop....
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