wobble
the sun's been going down earlier and earlier and earlier. oh not perceptibly but
it's been shaving its legs closely from one year to the next. june knows this because
it's her job to watch the sky with a stopwatch in hand and record the exact split
second the eyelash falls into the gutter. when it rains or clouds she feels the spin of the earth, vertiginous. she's been recording the times for five years, takes triangulated measurements
calculates arc and density in the columns of light that thrust through the sky behind a thunderhead. she's very often correct but not correllative with what the navy predicts. the results
are never published. not hidden, exactly, but buried like a face between thighs, satisfied
fat folders of data that no one looks to for trends. it's all about the rub. her colleauge, hilda
whose job it is to collect the morning sunrise on the other coast, says she can feel the vertigo too, but june doesn't believe she's even taken the data. her numbers match the sunrise times predicted, to the nanosecond. june thinks hilda sleeps thru the sunrise. she wants to know if this difference is significant, but she can't even prove the difference without correct data. the two times together are designed to encompass oceanic line of sight, the most acute avaiable for the human eye. robots and sensors aren't trusted for this kind of work anymore. expectations become their own exisitence. she's supposed to record to the third digit but she's watching the fifth. she's looked at the data from the last three years yesterday and the trend is there. but only on her side. one of us is falling down on the job and it's not me .she thinks. lt armistace creeps into her cubicle on little rat feet, sniffing around. "so leiutenant . i've seen this anamoly..she begins. he's not paying attention to her charts. he's looking for the copy of the order for 458 pillows for the new recuits to be housed. after all, this is just a minute part of my job she remembers. puts the data into the sunset folder and clicks on the link to purchasing. it's gonna be a long nightshift. the radio begins to play a mideastern loop. she's on the phone to the px, putting in the lt.s request. the sky glows over her head out the window, erasing itself into black.
it's been shaving its legs closely from one year to the next. june knows this because
it's her job to watch the sky with a stopwatch in hand and record the exact split
second the eyelash falls into the gutter. when it rains or clouds she feels the spin of the earth, vertiginous. she's been recording the times for five years, takes triangulated measurements
calculates arc and density in the columns of light that thrust through the sky behind a thunderhead. she's very often correct but not correllative with what the navy predicts. the results
are never published. not hidden, exactly, but buried like a face between thighs, satisfied
fat folders of data that no one looks to for trends. it's all about the rub. her colleauge, hilda
whose job it is to collect the morning sunrise on the other coast, says she can feel the vertigo too, but june doesn't believe she's even taken the data. her numbers match the sunrise times predicted, to the nanosecond. june thinks hilda sleeps thru the sunrise. she wants to know if this difference is significant, but she can't even prove the difference without correct data. the two times together are designed to encompass oceanic line of sight, the most acute avaiable for the human eye. robots and sensors aren't trusted for this kind of work anymore. expectations become their own exisitence. she's supposed to record to the third digit but she's watching the fifth. she's looked at the data from the last three years yesterday and the trend is there. but only on her side. one of us is falling down on the job and it's not me .she thinks. lt armistace creeps into her cubicle on little rat feet, sniffing around. "so leiutenant . i've seen this anamoly..she begins. he's not paying attention to her charts. he's looking for the copy of the order for 458 pillows for the new recuits to be housed. after all, this is just a minute part of my job she remembers. puts the data into the sunset folder and clicks on the link to purchasing. it's gonna be a long nightshift. the radio begins to play a mideastern loop. she's on the phone to the px, putting in the lt.s request. the sky glows over her head out the window, erasing itself into black.
posted by hiccup at 4:11 PM
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