The eternal minute

Waiting... a moment loaded with myriads of itching crawlers, while the clock slowly ticks. Each tick an age... It's like running, but your legs carry you nowhere. The clock, relentless with each tick.

The crawlers inexorably eating you alive, beneath the cruel fury of the sun — heating the tiles, scorching the ground beneath your feet. These burning coals force you into a frantic hopping, grease on your skin... drenching your attire.

"Number 29, please enter!" A booming sound suddenly emerges, a rift through the oppressive silence. Your eyes trace your ticket: Number 213! The clock shows 02:01 p.m. — only three hours before closing.

The endless wailing of a baby's cry, torturing your ears , while the frantic hopping endures..... beneath this bombardment of Apollo's dire rage

Then hard tapping on your shoulders , your neck twisting unveils a woman's fiery face, Her mouth a shower , spits angry words. " you scare my baby with your hopping about"

A little hush of cool air, betrays the comfort within
Intensely longing for that relieve... your hopping continues as you feel the crawlers invasion,
creeping slowely beneath your trousers legs

03:01 "Number 90 enter please" booming again
Doing the math , its gonna be touching gold

The crawlers's tortures itch has faded, Apollo's rage tempered, you thank god for his mercy.
When burnt odor is blown in your face ...
and the baby's tormentous wailing starts anew

Your eyes fall upon an empty seat, hunched like a thief you aim towards this velvet throne
Just before your eyes a youngster— quick as a whip...eyes mocking .. face a triumph claims the seat.

A voice now tired booming "Nr 212 enter please !"
The clock now cruel and merciless at 4:59 !