The clocks tick, slightly out of time. tic TIC tic tic TIC tic TIC TIC tic tic tic TIC.
The dishwasher slubs through its cycle arythmically, its age readily apparent. Swoosh slub SLUB SWOOSH slub slub slub SLUB SLUB slub.
The noises overlap, moving over and under each other as I lie in bed waiting for sleep. They never quite meet each other, never manage to create a rhythm that's easy to listen to. They jar against each other and against the creaking of the old floorboards as the dog shifts her weight in sleep.
I dream that I am on a ship in a wonderland ocean dreamt up by a dozing Alice. The white rabbit is long gone—only echoes of his watch remain.
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