Michael sped up once more and ducked into an alley, throwing the cigarettes into a trash can. Leaning against the wall, he unwrapped and stuffed the chocolates into his mouth in one feverish, violent action. He remained against the wall for fifteen minutes, a half hour, an hour, an hour and twenty-seven minutes before suddenly taking to the street once more, now moving determinedly but calmly, back on schedule.

Ducking into a cafe, he requested a table outside, and sat and sipped his coffee as he read a newspaper that had been left behind. He could hear the second hand of his watch ticking – it sounded deafening, and he worried that he may be asked to leave the restaurant. That wouldn’t work at all, but he didn’t want to try to fiddle with it – if he tried to turn down the volume, he might change the time, and he couldn’t change the time. It was so well-set. He simply crossed his fingers and sweated, glancing nervously up every time a waiter came near.