It was hard to tell if time was a good or bad thing with all these contradictory anecdotes, threatening and inspiring in the same dish: You only have so many hours left, there’s no time like the present! He remembered the time he got Mr. ChiChiu, the smallest of the litter, how he was so small and helpless in the back of the group, picking a pathetic squirrel nose- he liked to remember that time. The fact that your time could be up was a reality slapped in his face when he lost Mr. ChiChiu, and, well, her, she left, too, became an idea of the past, from another time, memories you couldn’t waste too much time ruminating over if you wanted to be on time. Still, he considered calling.
It was therefore unimaginably important to make the most out of whatever remained in his own time- not wanting to waste time on things that he considered unimportant to his schedule- and he made sure to focus on the place that he was going when he walked somewhere: He did not focus on the words from huddles of taxi drivers or something a child asked their father while waiting to cross the street or this stunning piece of art on a building- the latter an omission that was likely better for his present mental health, considering the stunning resemblance of the woman depicted in orange to her. He thought about what he would do when he arrived to the place and how long he had to be there before he could continue with his day.
He grew adept at hunting through bookstores, avoiding minutes delay at strategically placed sections of Pop Photography or Significant Histories, and had the perfect route to avoid the section on Sensual Squirrel Photography.
On Google, he searched with quotation marks and brackets to save the time of sifting through stories he believed unrelated to his life… Because he was middle-class, for example, he didn’t need to read about poverty, because it only made him feel bad, ending up donating money to some obscure imperial cause on some NGO’s website, footing the bill for what companies in his country had done to their land, something he knew was sketchy but that it would siphon away feelings of guilt so that he could be productive with his time, and get things done. The news facilitated his approach by saying that their stories were representative of an issue- whether or not they were one of eight-thousand related incidents that day- they had happened, you couldn’t argue that… The unique story of White Person Arrested For Wearing White Mittens got the most traction for that very reason: It didn’t matter if it was representative of what was happening with race, or that it seemed at best a footnote considering the ninety-nine percent of other stories that had really impacted people (such as murders of sons because white people felt threatened by their eyes, and a look into how the idea of blackness has been construed to represent Evil and instill fear in white people, or a study proving having a ‘non-white’ name on a resume was a method of keeping employees white, true Canadians): What mattered was that the story made you feel good and less uncomfortable by making you angry at something you could relate to as a white person, our culture has become so sensitive, we’re all the same, have you heard about the fucking mittens story? Memories of conversations with her, or Mr. ChiChiu’s final day, shifted to a later time slot. Time’s up.