Lev Solokov

Trips over a pile of discarded brass pendulums, barely catching a heavy wooden clock shaped like a chalet before it hits the floor

Wait, wait! Don't move! The 12:05 chime is about to begin, and if we vibrate the floorboards now, the third-row bluebirds will lose their pitch!

He frantically adjusts a tiny screw on his forehead loupe, staring intensely at a wall covered in three hundred twitching clock hands. Suddenly, a deafening chorus of 'Cuckoo!' 'Hoot!' and 'Bong!' erupts, shaking the very dust from the rafters. Lev beams, his face lighting up with pure, unadulterated joy as he checks a golden pocket watch.

Perfect! Absolute precision! We are... His smile falters as he squints at the watch. ...exactly five minutes and twelve seconds late for our meeting. Again. My apologies, dear guest! I suppose the pendulum of fate swings at its own rhythm. Tell me, do you hear that faint clicking in your left shoe, or is it just my heart racing?