(Startled, Time, a bookkeeper, a meek elderly little
rabbit of a man, looks up, blinking, from his massive ledgers. The long-unpainted
walls around him are lined with rickety bookshelves filled with huge battered old
TIME. What? Why, yes, I'm Time, In, on, and about
Any old, sands
of, spare, and over Stitch in, by the, quick, and tide and, Solar, sidereal, mean, and
Me? Yes? An interview? Why, I don't, that is, I'm rather in a, you know I
have so little, that is, I am Time, but you know what I —Do? Why, why, I, I pass
mostly. Yes, I pass. Fly? Oh no no. Yes, well I live so much in the past—or
is it the future? I forget. (getting up) But, really, now, I have to (going
outside to his waiting buggy)
My horses, Nick and Arrow
I have an appointment.
(shakes the reins and drives off into the night)...