One night after I got proficient with my new foot, I hobbled down to the basement: Peg-leg Pete. I like to go down there at night and listen to Captain Berg’s Stamp Hour on the shortwave. Comes on at 2:00 A.M. I always know the time, right on the money, bro. Serious. I bought a German clock with a radio transmitter in it that computes with the real atomic clock in Boulder, Colorado, and from that I set my watches. I got a solid gold Rolex President—your Captain of Industry watch. I got a two-tone Sea Dweller with a Neptune green bezel, a platinum Daytona, a Patek Philippe, and so on. They all right on time. Believe it. You might think, “Why is he worried about time? ’Cause he got so little left? What is the man’s problem? Like God going to cheat him out of a second or something?” When you are fascinated with clocks, it’s because you’re an existential person. Some guy wears a plain watch with just a slash at the noon, three, six, and nine o’clock positions, you can put your money on that man. If the watch is plain with Roman numerals, he’s also a straight guy. Non-neurotic. Trust that individual. That watch is your “tell”; it’s a Rorschach. If you see someone with a railroad face—same deal. Arabic numerals on a railroad face, trust him a little less. A watch with extraneous dials and buttons, don’t trust ’em at all, especially if they wearing a jogging watch and they ain’t in shape. This is just a general rule of thumb—your man may be wearing a watch that goes against type since his father give it to him. Wealthy people buy forty-thousand-dollar timepieces that look worse than a Timex ’cause they don’t want to get taken off. The people they want to know how much their watch cost will know, but no pipehead or take-off artist will know. As they say, if it doesn’t tick, it ain’t shit. You wanna know if your woman cheats? There’s a certain watch style and nine times out of ten, if she’s wearing it, she’s guilty. I swear.