Not to family. To each other. They had a rotating schedule. Monday: Bernard calls Arthur to complain about the neighbor’s leaf blower. Wednesday: Arthur calls Eugene to describe the cuckoo clock’s latest seizure. Friday: Eugene calls Bernard to read aloud a grocery list he found and explain why the person who wrote it was clearly a secret agent (“Who buys capers, anchovies, and cat food? No one. That’s a code.”).
At 2 PM, they returned home. But “home” was a euphemism. Arthur lived in a basement apartment with seventeen clocks, only one of which worked. Bernard lived in a house where every surface was covered in unopened mail. Eugene lived in a van down by the river, but he had arranged the interior like a Japanese tea house, complete with a tiny shelf for his Ziploc bag collection. old men gangbang
Not for leaves or birds. For the shadow. They timed how long it took the shadow to move from the bench’s left leg to the crack in the concrete two feet away. Bernard said fifty-three minutes. Arthur said forty-eight. Eugene said it didn’t matter because the sun was a liar and time was a human mistake. They argued for twenty minutes. That was the point. Not to family