Tick tock

Drink or drugs are the perfect palliative to the ticking clock. Without much to do, the clock becomes the centre of attention, time hangs heavy and the next event seems a long time away. The ache and pains, the slow rise and fall of the chest, these guardians of our very existence take on an all consuming importance as we watch the slow passage of time drift across the face of the clock.
With a trip to the pub, or a pull on a spliff, all those self induced visits to examine ones morbidity are suddenly blown away by an alcoholic  spin which puts the mind into neutral and makes self interest irrelevant. Conversation takes on heightened importance as the topics flow and the intelligence of ones circle expands with each new round of drink. The words of wisdom tumble out and are enthusiastically received by all and sundry. Friends are made in a second or two, inside an hour a lifetimes experiences have been traded and one begins to wonder how you had been without this group to support and listen to all those problems.    As you negotiate your way home, the glow, like an after-burn, takes one to the front door and there it ends.
A larger force moves into view and the clock on the wall starts to tick, once again.