We were discussing the grandfather clock when I asked what time it was.
This struck Bartender as odd, as we were standing in front of a functioning clock, keeping time perfectly purely by weight.
I saw the arrows. I saw them point. I saw them move. They meant nothing to me.
"It's not time," I tried to explain. "It's a symbol of time."
I can't decide if my brain experiences life too literally or too symbolically to interpret the meaning instantly.
Don't ask me how I've been able to bullshit a thesis on the displaced patriotism within Vonnegut's nihilist motif but can't read an analog clock.