4.

According to my watch, we should have been in Dubai two hours ago. Two hours ago, yesterday. Apparently my new watch had stopped working when I was still back in Rio. Probably happened during the lively bottom half of the Best Butt on the Beach competition that I was covering. Barely. Well, that's OK. The guy I bought it from assured me Rolex's have a lifetime guarantee so all I'll have to do is send it back to the factory for repairs. Actually, all it probably needs is a glob of grease on the gears or something. I should be able to pick some of that up in Dubai. But what I was really after was a barrel of oil.

I was once told by a highly placed oil company representative that from crude oil I could distill not only my own gasoline but I could get propane to fill my lantern, butane to light it with, napthalene to kill off the moths gathering around it, tar to patch my driveway, kerosene to clean up the mess with and more -ene's and -ane's than I could possibly know what to do with. In any event, my lubrication needs will be met. But more importantly, I will have my own little hedge fund in a can.

But I think I will just take this damn watch off and put it in the little bag in the seat pocket in front of me and hand it a flight attendant for disposal when she brings me another drink. Time, who needs it? Everyday that goes by sinks the knife of memories deeper in my heart and every scent of newly cut hay gives it a twist. After all this time, why does she still torture me so?