Three weeks since the time-ball exploded.
It was 5:30 and fifteen minutes before eight o'clock and
Lawrence was pouring his cereal into a river and drinking coffee while the world phased around him in yellows and reds.
The universe had stabilized to a constant abnormality that had slowly lessened in inscrutability.
He knew the giant jam jar would roll down the street at 6:30 and 15 minutes before nine; that the slippery- stickiness would be oddly fun to wade through; that balls of fur and other pieces of what once was would gravitate towards it and he would have to get in and get out fast; and then there would be a long line up the escalator.
The escalator did not seem to go to the same place every day; but it appeared every day at 7 am and forty five minutes after nine, so it felt right to follow every constant to it's destination.
Today the escalator went up past where they had been the day before. He remembered it like a blur.
There were long wires of a gummy material and everyone knew somehow to cut and stack them; everyone being the wavering globs of misplaced humanity that over the last few weeks had stabilized into somewhat functional red and peach mush.
Lawrence looked down at his own deformities. At the bottom was no feet; just slithering oatmeal, but he had long tendrils for arms with opposable thumbs; enough to do the work; the only reward for which being blessed constancy.
Today the escalator went higher; and then just kept going.
