WATCHING THE CLOCK, part 4

exotic latino grill hocks its exotic latino grilleries out of a cart in a parking lot on the north side of the block of east hudson between indianola and summit. the menu wasn't what i'd expected (or, rather, had decided that it should have been), and neither was the exotic latina who took my order (something of the beauty who i hope still slings plates at the cart on north vancouver and fremont in portland). i did, however, manage to get myself a burrito (although the burritos weren't at all highlighted on the menu, and perhaps i should have gotten something more typically exotic). it's back to bitter cold, so i ate my burrito in the passenger seat of the car. (the wrapping was pretty, but the beans were too concentrated at the bottom and made almost for a mess.) then i took advantage of our position to have us drive to the goodwill down the street. but i didn't feel too bad taking advantage, even though the driver had regretted having already eaten after he'd had a bite of my lunch, because he also had a box of old shoes in the trunk that had been waiting to find its way to a donation site. and then (and maybe it might not have been there if i hadn't been there with someone making a contribution), i actually found the frame that i was looking for. the first one i'd found at the volunteers of america store in merion village, and this one (although it didn't turn out to be -- not exactly) looked exactly identical. the certificate of authenticity says that the photos are five by seven, but they're actually five by seven and a little bit more, which is apparently a standard non-standard frame size too, but just as easy to find when you're trying to find a frame on the secondhand cheap. but they had one! and almost exactly identical to the one that i already had, so now i had frames for two of three of the alexander guerra photos that a friend had gifted me because they were too gay for her boyfriend to have in the house. score (times two). and so i was happy when we got to the gallery to keep watching "the clock." i picked it back up just after three. and we got in almost two hours. john cusack gets considerable face time. and that's on top of what he gets from one-thirty to three, because it's as a result of having watched the clock that hour and a half that the artist lent me "the grifters." (i haven't seen annette or angelica again at the wexner.) audrey hepburn doesn't see anything, because in the clips of her excerpted from three to five she's blind. audrey tautou finally shows up in "amelie." four o'clock is big. there's commotion. chomping at the bit (although he's asleep next to me on the sofa). then, at four-twenty, not at all what you might think, but everyone's watching the clock. second by second, they're closer to getting out. except that at four thirty-five sissy spacek, in "3 women," is fantasizing about clocking in. shelley duvall is somewhere else and at another time. she's being given a watch. next to me the driver is squeaking back awake, and i feel bad again about taking advantage, because he hasn't gotten any sleep, and i know how that feels. the punch cards get punched out en masse at five, and a couple of minutes later we leave. "the good, the bad and the ugly," he tells me. and he tells me that it was fun going in and out. it's its own experience letting the images confront you after you've been woken up by the confrontation of the images. okay. score (times three). but we were there until just past five. quitting time.