"This is a story about a man named Harold Crick and his wristwatch. Harold Crick was a man of infinite numbers, endless calculations, and remarkably few words. And his wristwatch said even less. Every weekday, for twelve years, Harold would brush each of his thirty-two teeth seventy-six times. Thirty-eight times back and forth, thirty-eight times up and down. Every weekday, for twelve years, Harold would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot instead of the double, thereby saving up to forty-three seconds. His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat, but said nothing."
Vsakdo v svojem življenju potrebuje odmerek fikcije. Toda predstavljajte si, da kar naenkrat zaslišite glas, ki opisuje vaša dejanja, pripoveduje zgodbo o vas.
Vsakdo v svojem življenju potrebuje odmerek fikcije. Toda predstavljajte si, da kar naenkrat zaslišite glas, ki opisuje vaša dejanja, pripoveduje zgodbo o vas.
"Every weekday, for 12 years, Harold would run at a rate of nearly 57 steps per block for 6 blocks, barely catching the 8:17 Kronecker bus. His wristwatch would delight in the feeling of the crisp wind rushing over its face. And every weekday, for 12 years, Harold would review 7.134 tax files as a senior agent for the Internal Revenue Service. Only taking a 45.7-minute lunch break, and a 4.3-minute coffee break, timed precisely by his wristwatch.
Beyond that, Harold lived a life of solitude. He would walk home alone. He would eat alone. And precisely 11:13 every night, Harold would go to bed alone, putting his wristwatch to rest on the nightstand beside him. The was, of course, before Wednesday. On Wednesday, Harold's wristwatch changed everything."
Harold Crick je človek številk. Zaposlen je kot davčni uradnik, ki vsak dan svojega neizživetega življenja preživi sam. Njegov obstoj je brez pomena, in šele ko ga neznani glas obsodi na smrt, se zave, da je življenje lahko drugačno. Privlačna in uporniška Ana Pasqual, ki jo spozna med delom, ga izpopolni in mu pokaže, da je svet brez številk in z občasnim piškotkom še lepši.
"As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true."
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