I sat awkwardly on his bedroom floor, bewildered as to how I’d landed in the one place I swore this conversation wouldn’t happen. He was sprawled face-down on his bed, half-asleep and with no idea of what I was about to demand of him.

My gaze wandered slowly across the room. I’d only seen it in the light a few times before. Empty Schlitz bottles, a copy of New Moon, the familiar Rage Against the Machine cloth banner fluttering under his ceiling fan. I glanced at the clock to my left, its green face blinking and mis-set. 6:28. 6:28. 6:28. It was 9:30.

Oh, I thought. I remember it being orange. How did I miss that?

What stands out from that night wasn’t finally getting answers from him or the text message he sent me as soon as I’d left.

I just know that his clock isn’t orange.


1 Comment

Filed under Experience, Sound

One response to “6:28

  1. I like this one.

    Great song too! Love Imogen Heap!

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