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darwinia  darwinia is offline
Join Date: 23 Jun 2002
Posts: 1,425
A Ripple in the Dimp of Time

The thing on Mr. Dimp's head looks to be some sort of glyph which is not discernible to me.

He seems a happy chap, but we'd all be this happy if we'd just eaten a few peanut butter cups on the sly as Mr. Dimp has. He hides them in the back of empty clocks and people see him scurrying to open the backs of timepieces and think, "My, we are lucky to have Mr. Dimp fixing things for us," but Mr. Dimp is thinking of the crimped edge of the chocolate cup and biting into sweet peanut butter. Yeah, he knows what to make time for.

He has a lot of fine tools which he takes good care of, specialty tools with ebony handles and special shapes to fit the screws and sprockety doodads on clocks. There is nothing as satisfying as having expensive, high quality tools, unless it is biting into a peanut butter cup after a long day of working on tiny gears.

He leaves his front door open so that people can drop by and chat (another good reason to hide his peanut butter cups!), and he knows people hear his clocks chime the hour through the open portal, and it makes him feel cheery to share time with people.

Time is music to Mr. Dimp. Time is the the brass key in hand, the song of gongs, the infinite alternating movement of pendulums, the whispers of hands in seconds, repeating numerals around and around, the hours danced by well oiled gears, slipping, slipping like water over waterwheels, tumbling forever, singing.
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