Broken clocks

I can’t stand broken clocks. There’s one in the workout room at the Belltown Court condo complex in (drumroll) Belltown, and every time I get on the treadmill down there I look at the clock, and, because it’s “broken” at about 6:45, and even better, that’s usually about the time I make it down there to work out, it means I think it’s accurate.

At which point I begin the longest workout session of my life…until I remember that the effing clock is broken.

Stupid broken clocks.