‘Time isn’t holding us/Time isn’t after us…’
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Then follow me,” he smiled and led me through the thronging revellers…
The Clock-Tower stood, dark and imposing, with at its base the bulk of a large man carrying a sub-machine gun who, miraculously, stood to one side as we approached.
Four-Hundred-and-Two-steps later we stood atop the tower looking out over the celebratory crowds below…
Just as they were counting down…
‘Time isn’t holding us/Time isn’t after us,’ he said again as the clock-face turned to light and his laughter crackled blue down the wires.