This industrial T-bar now stands on my windowsill like a small piece of plumbing that wandered indoors and found religion. Its official purpose is noble: give my G-Shock Frogman plenty of sunlight for its solar battery and a clear path for the atomic time signal drifting across the continent from Colorado. In theory it is a piece of practical engineering. In reality it looks suspiciously like a shrine.
And there, hanging from the crossbeam, is the Frogman.
Alone.
It dangles from the steel arm like a black armored bat waiting for nightfall, absorbing sunlight by day and atomic whispers by midnight. The watch is perfectly content with its arrangement. I’m the one feeling uneasy. A single watch hanging from a rack designed to hold several feels like the opening chapter of a story that ends with six of them lined up like tactical fruit.
Which raises an uncomfortable question: have I just installed the infrastructure for a collection?
The GW-7900 is scheduled to arrive in about five days, which means the Frogman’s loneliness will soon be cured. Not that I’m counting, of course. That would imply anticipation. This is merely a logistical observation. Five days. Give or take a few hours.
This Industrial T-Bar for my G-Shock Frogman should provide it with good lighting for solar battery and maximize the atomic radio signal. But does that Frogman look lonely up there. I fear this T-Bar may be setting the predicate for a G-Shock collection. The GW-7900 arrives in about 5 days, but who’s counting?
Cinemorphosis 
Leave a comment