When John Harvey's watch stops working on the morning of February
3rd, 1987, he has an epiphany. It occurs to him that every personal
trauma he is trying to forget has had one thing in common: they all
occurred at some point on the face of that very watch. The loss of
his job, the death of his child, Zola's suicide, all contained
right there in that tiny circle of finite numbers. So he smashes
the watch. Problem solved. But when John steps out the door to make
his daily trek to the local bar as a man newly freed from the
tyrannies of time, he is met by a snowstorm that renders him
completely blind, and a walk that should have taken just a few
minutes begins to feel like years. Because as John Harvey wanders
alone through the snow with no sun nor sign to guide him, the
twenty-eight year old misanthrope is confronted by the vivid
manifestation of every ghost he has devoted his lonely life to
avoiding. In the storm he is forced to finally accept the suffering
he has been hiding from. In the storm he is forced to understand
that the only thing worse than never truly seeing is never truly
being seen. In the storm he is forced, for once, to watch.
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