Small room in which he worked, with a bunch of old clocks hanged on the wall. They were ticking. He was just finishing his work day, turning off the lamp and neatly putting of tweezers and magnifying glass. As he was leaving he turned the key twice. The workshop was located at the small passage just of the main street where you can still hear the noise. Every time he would step on that noisy street he would felt mild discomfort. Walking down the street people would pass by, all those unfamiliar faces, but he could not recognize the one that he was looking for. He lived in a flat at the quite part of the city, only the voice of the children from the nearby park would sometimes distort the silence. He loved children and admired them. Their voices would bring the old memories. Sometimes he would go to the park and watched them play, full of energy and laughter. That would give him hope. His room was small, with a window to the park, small table with a television, shelf filled with books and sofa. The wall were covered in photographs. He lived alone, with his thoughts and books. Sometimes he would stare at the photos for hours. One day while he was coming from the workshop he stumbled upon street bookseller. As he was looking through the pile of old scruffy books one book caught his attention, The Aleph. There was something at that moment, something that he felt as he looked at that book, he must read it. He decide that before returning to the room he would sit in the park and read it. That day something was happening at the park. There was big birthday party and park was filled with kid's laugh and unfamiliar faces. He wanted to stay there, he loved kids but he could not read in such clutter. The kids were not the problem, he could not stand the voice of their parents. Their voices mixed with noise attacked him from all over. So many changes in short period, he did not like change. He continued through the park toward the flat when he stood still. Still as a statue of a Greek sculptors that defies a time. He saw the face, the face that he wanted to see all these years, young face, black hair just like his and those eyes that he would not forget. At the first he was not sure is that really him or someone alike. He got scared and moved on. When he got to the flat he looked at the photos to make sure it was him. He sat at the sofa and tried to read but he was too upset. He closed the book and fall asleep in the sofa. The next day while he was coming from the workshop he saw the face again, but this time it was playing with a small boy. Is it possible the he was there all the time and he did not notice him. He walked by and the face did not recognize him and he did not have the courage to speak to him. How is that possible, all these years he dreamed about seeing him, and now it seems so unattainable. Where is all that unexpressed love. The next day he saw it again. "Sir, do you know any watch store nearby?" "We just moved here and we would like to buy a nice watch for our apartment". At that moment his heart stopped, does he really do not recognize him. He quickly collected thoughts and replied. He looked at the small boy who was with him and start to cry. "Are you alright sit?", he asked him. "Yes, yes I just have allergy at this spring time". The man and boy walked away while he was watching them from the bench. "Is that really possible after all these years?" Slowly the sky got darker and streetlight turned on. He could not think more about what happened and went home. He entered the room, glanced at photos and collapse in the sofa. He sat there for awhile looking at the watch. Suddenly the door opened at the knight was standing at his doorstep. The figure was so bright that he could not recognize any details, he only saw the swing of a sword and the next moment his head was at the floor. But he was not dead, slowly he began to recognizes details and than realizes that knight does not hold a sword but big hands of the clock.