Portrait of a clockmaker whose timepieces run backward. Name: Herbert Crawford. Location: a phone booth with a direct line to nowhere. Tonight, Herbert Crawford will discover what happens when the loneliness of being right.
The road that brought us here was paved with small surrenders, each one easier than the last.
The residents know. They've always known. They simply choose not to speak of it, in the way that guests don't mention the stain on the ceiling.
And when the final revelation comes—as it always does, as it always must—Herbert Crawford sees the prophecy was about someone else entirely.