They climbed a wobbly spiral staircase. At the top, the massive clock face was gone, leaving a gaping circle that framed the bruised twilight sky. The air smelled of old metal and rain. They sat on a dusty floorboard, sharing fries.
Elara’s first instinct was to check her schedule. Wednesday was "Administrative Life-Maintenance: 7:00 PM - 9:00 PM." Tonight was "Cross-trainer calibration." The clock tower was not on the schedule. hmm schedules
Instead, she grabbed her coat. Her hand hovered over her bag, where a small, leather-bound journal lay. It was her mother’s, given to her on her thirtieth birthday. Inside, the first page had one line in her mother’s looping cursive: The best things in life aren't on the schedule. They climbed a wobbly spiral staircase
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