A wooden bar near closing, one stool, one glass, a clock

Last call.

Last call at a bar. It could be your last call in life. It could be the last call. The one you still get to answer.

Choices. Free will has a timer.

The mark

The ring.

A glass, seen from above. A clock with one tick. It stamps, it embroiders, it engraves. It is not a cross and it is not a letter.

The bandana

Cut like a neckerchief.

Binding, a red pipe, a hem line, one badge. The name sits on the ring. The motto sits under it. The triangle is how it is worn. The square is the cloth. The badge is the ring.

Day. Natural field. Ink binding.

Night. Ink field. Natural binding.

The fold. Point down the back.

A hand held above a whiskey glass, not yet touching it, a clock behind — Not taken yet

The bar, one glass left, the clock, no sign — The room

The matchbook and the plate carry the same words the cloth does. The photograph beside the glass is the blank book, before the type is struck. Nothing here is a floral buckle.

A blank cream matchbook beside a whiskey glass — The blank, on the bar

In the three voices

Same timer. Not the same brand.

Docket The case stays open until it closes. Free will has a timer. Worked You can still sit down. The night is the timer. Second Glass Come sit down. Last call at the bar. Last call in a life. The one you still get to answer. Opus Docket again, from another hand. A register. The plate cropped to the thumb.