#14 – clock

Matt Cross stumbled into the darkened foyer of his flat, bleary-eyed and none too stable.  It had been the most atrocious of days, what with numerous members of the demimonde flitting in and out of the shop, demanding their fresh flowers or their imported Sicilian wines or their latest fripperies from Paris.  Bad enough their nasal whines and haughty demeanors.  Bad enough that he was woefully short-staffed, what with two of his minions away on a protracted holiday.  But the topper of it all...