Time is a relative thing.
There is the time of laughter and parties that are over in the blink of an eye.
There is the time of the last class on a Friday afternoon.
There is Sunday morning time, incredibly boring when a kid, nice and unhurried as an adult.
There is the time of reckoning.
There is the time of the day, and those who won’t give it to you.
There is Prince’s Time.
There is Time Magazine.
There is parsley, sage, rosemary. And time.
There is timeliness and there is hurry.
And there is the time of the guy stuck in the most boring room of a modern art museum.
Each syrupy second of it.
A jellyfied sort of time.
The time to lose the will to live.