The large clock on the left wall had a plate-sized pendulum and all of its gears and springs exposed, an exhibitionist if I ever saw one. On the opposite wall hung a routine ready-made poster of clocks through the ages, from the sundial to the digital. There was a mirror on the third wall, too large for the small space, reflecting the theme of time but little else. I sat on the brown leather coach smirking at my surroundings as I noted its hamhanded proclamation that it was, indeed, a waiting room.
Then I woke up from my nap annoyed at how damned literal my dreams can be.
