Part hypersigil, part true story:
"Something happened on Sunday November 8th, 1992 at 1:44pm according to a very old and very nice Waltham Pocket Watch; something that has guided nearly every choice I have made since. J had been willed that watch by an elderly woman who neither J nor anyone in her immediate family had ever met, but who claimed in the note accompanying the watch, to be a long estranged family member. Three days after a man who wore his suit like a bullet proof vest delivered the watch to J she phoned me. That November had rolled in like the last train home finally reaching the station, and so though I probably should have been surprised to get that call from J, who I had not seen or heard from in the two years since the incident at reservoir number one in Framingham Massachusetts, I was not surprised in the least. The conversation was brief and without the usual soporific emotional pretenses people indulge in when they run into old friends they haven’t seen in whatever passes for a long time in their minds. J is not a cliché; she is laughter in the mausoleum. “Meet me at the red brick building across from the reservoir in two hours.” and then dial tone. "