“There are two kinds of time,” he said. “Theirs and yours. This is an important distinction. And you need to have a different attitude depending on who’s keeping track.”
He pulled a mickey of bourbon from his left-side pocket, took a slug, passed it to his right hand, took another drink and set it in his pocket on that side, and winked. “Don’t want the wool stretching out lopsided.”
“What was that about time?” someone yelled.
He scratched his cheek.
“Think of their time as endless, infinite. But know,” he said, solemnly, “you only really get a handful to yourself.”
A Bunch of Dumb Words in a Row 