Which to choose? The plain white; classic and stylish? The black collared T; slick and aggressive? Or the black V-neck; dangerous and glamorous.

I paused. 

'Very well, now get a move on,' she seemed apprehensive.

I listened to myself breathe for a while.

'In your fucking dream', another voice came from behind, piercing through distance.

Or the striped shirt, with funny patchwork of purple, black and grey; radical, a way-out?

The clock is ticking. 

Tick.

I stood up and reach for one.

I grabbed one at random from the yellowing pile at the bottom of the discolored, holey closet.

'Off, my man, off. You just blown it. It is over.' 

I grinned.

It was faded, grooved, baggy, smelled moldy and helluva muggy. 

I could see a guy in the mirror.

That guy who looked exactly like the weary, neglected, thoughtless fool that I was.

'Time is up!' and she hurled.

It felt great. 

Time is mine, chappy.

*

The clock is ticking, and still is.

You are right Patrick, it is time to let go everything we used to know. Because there is no point of building a house of cards and wait for it to fall.

Chained to history, you shall sink fast, surely.

*

The clock is ticking, and still is.

Have you picked yours?