Brimming with amber, the sun spills over the city’s skyline. But even as it bleeds onto the streets, the runners do not slow their paces. Children merely nibble at their melting ice cream cones, and beggars continue to lay their heads against the sidewalk.

Adam, too, feels sweat dribble down his neck; through his blazer, the metal bench sears his back. Still, he tugs at his dress shirt’s collar, sipping his steaming Americano. His ham sandwich lies beside him, stiff and half-eaten.

A pigeon flutters down to his feet. He tears off a piece of his sandwich and tosses it to the bird. As it pecks at the morsel, tearing beakfuls of dead grass along with it, Adam cannot help but marvel: how could a creature’s single concern be a cold slab of bread?

But pigeons’ lives are tiny, he assures himself. They poop on taxi windshields until they die. He again brings his Americano to his lips as Timmy slides across the bench next to him, elbowing him in the ribs. Adam sputters coffee into the ground.

“It’s been a while, my good friend!” the clock-headed man chimes, his voice echoing from inside his metallic face. Shoulders down, he’s a normal man. As normal as he can be, at least, Adam thinks as he stares at his clothes: a polo shirt with two buttons undone and stained khaki shorts. He wrinkles his nose.

“I didn’t even know you’d be here, Time–”

“God, I hate that name. It’s so formal.”

“Timmy,” Adam spits.

“Thank you. But I’m as surprised as you are. You’ve sat on this bench for forty-seven minutes, staring out at nothing.” Timmy stretches out his legs. Adam shuffles his closer to his body. “How’ve you been? Missed me?”

“I’ve been busy.” Adam grits his teeth. “But, um. I got a promotion at work, actually.”

“Ah, because you’re so cheery,” Timmy snickers. “Mmm. I haven’t taken it yet.” His words are clipped. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Wow, rude much?” Timmy clutches his hand to his chest. “I came ‘cause I care.” 

The pigeon struts toward him.

“Who’s this little friend you made?” He scoots toward it, stroking its turquoise plume.

“It just… showed up.” Adam kicks a soda can at his foot. “Dunno why, though. This park is a dump.”

“And the city’s only one, no?” The bird coos, nestling its head into Timmy’s hand. “He didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Not for long. They’re tearing it down soon.”

Timmy cocks his head at him, cogs squeaking. “What? And you don’t care?”

Adam shrugs. “I mean, I guess I like the peace here.”

“Booor–ing!” Timmy groans. Adam rolls his eyes. “Oh, the poor birds. Now all they have left is—” He pulls away from the pigeon, gesturing at the looming steel buildings fencing in the park. Through the windows, Adam sees people slumped inside their cubicles. “Is this.”

“It’s— it’s for the best. Life is simpler in the city. They get food, shelter.” Adam shifts in his seat. “Stability.”

“But don’t they deserve more?”

“What’s it even matter, Timmy? They’re just pigeons!” He snaps. “This is stupid. I should just take my promotion– the sun rises and sets either way.”

Apart from the ticking emanating from his head like a bomb about to detonate, for the first time, Timmy is silent.

“Maybe,” he finally murmurs. Adam didn’t know his tiny voice could be so soft. “But if you look closely, whether it’s sunrise or sunset, there’s a brief moment during each where they look exactly the same.”

In unison, Adam and Timmy look up at the sky: the interlaced pastel clouds, the sun’s edges dripping with honey.

“What do you think, Adam? Is it rising right now–”

Tick.

“–or setting?”

Tock.

The sound reverberates through Adam’s head, crushing his temples. Hands trembling, Adam checks his phone.

“It’s… seven o’clock.”

“That’s not what I asked, bud.”

“Well?” Adam massages his wrinkling sleeves, voice shrill. “Why even ask? Why ask me?”

“Because I don’t know anything, Adam,” Timmy laughs. “I don’t even have eyes!”

“Then how can you be sure they look the same?”

“I like to believe it anyway.” Roman numerals gleam against his face’s frayed parchment color. “Infinity gets so, so boring. It’s the least I can do for myself.”

“Well. I didn’t know it came so easily for you.” Adam’s styrofoam coffee cup shakes in his hand. “All you do is lounge around, laughing in my face at my choices, my lifestyle. What more could you possibly want?”

The ticking halts. Adam feels as if he is right there on the balanced sun, facing an Earth that’s stopped rotating on its axis.

“I already have more,” Timmy frowns. “It’s not up to me. That’s the problem.”

“So you wouldn’t understand.”

“You know what, Adam? It’s fine,” Timmy mutters. “No one ever realizes what I do for them anyway, they just blame me for running out on them.”

He stands up.

“It’s–look, I didn’t mean it like that,” Adam croaks, knees buckling as he tries to follow him. “You don’t need to—”

The gears start to grind again. A slow, mechanical clicking, slicing the air in perfect intervals.

Timmy turns his head away, the sun’s glare shadowing its rim. “I really do care about you, Adam. I hope that one day you’ll realize that.”

“Timmy, I– I’m sorr-”

But he’s already gone, just another one of the city’s bustling pedestrians. Adam sets his Americano down where Timmy had sat. He watches the murky surface swallow its own foam.

Eventually, he crumples to his knees, skinning his palms raw against the rocky soil. Tears slope down his cheeks as his fingers curl around the few buds of green left.

The pigeon watches, feathers twitching at the writhing creature before it. It spreads its wings, lifting into the air. Weaving between skyscrapers, it soars into the sky’s suspended orange.