Everybody wore watches. This was the beauty of his profession. When he\'d first begun studying it, watches were oversized pieces of jewellery kept on a chain or in a pocket. They\'d remained that way for many centuries, where only those who had some money could afford them. Now there was the wristwatch starting at five dollars, from those that wore a cheap and nasty plastic strap to the kind with a diamond encrusted face. He held the digital devices in contempt, believing the analogues to be the most timeless and true works of art. Digital watches were for the classless. The truly stylish invested in analogue.
He\'d landed on his feet in this city, finding an affordable apartment in a location that could\'ve charged a higher rent. The windows in his place came with shutters that could be locked and block out sunlight. It was almost as though the owners of the building understood his requirements. He could sense some of his own kind living in the building, and even more in the streets beyond, like the entire city was a haunt for monsters such as himself. This place was special. How special, he wasn\'t yet sure, but his instincts told him to settle here and investigate further.
Finding a job had been laughably easy, for there were many shops in the city desperate for people to handle night shift work, as though they understood the business they were losing out on. His employer Phillip Harding was an older gentleman, also originally from London, England. There was an immediate connection between them reflected in their easy conversation, and at the end of the interview (more like a chat), he\'d won the job. Working from eight until two Monday to Friday, with an hourly pay that would cover his rent, bills, and allow for entertainment on his nights off. The job was a perfect fit.
He was beginning his second week and already found few customers entered the shop after ten. It was a Monday night and he spent most of his time working on the watches that Phillip had taken during the day for fixing or servicing. On a few occassions the customers had called him Ronaldo, for the name of the shop was Ronaldo\'s and he wore no name-badge. He didn\'t bother to correct them.
He expected another slow night, especially since the clock on the wall showed it was a little past one in the morning, but the front door opened, ringing the little bell above, and he lifted his gaze from the watch he held in his hands in order to greet the customer who entered the store.
