There is a clock in my room, and I noticed one above the bar counter in the café earlier. They seem to run synced. I wonder what time zone we are in here? The clock face shows the usual twelve hours, and it feels familiar. Is it evening or morning? I have no idea. The sun is far away, and it doesn't even shine into my cave dwelling. But even from the café windows, it doesn't rise in the traditional way from beyond the horizon. It's just there if one of the windows happens to be pointing in the right direction, or unless this moon is tucked behind Saturn in its orbit.

  When I went to take a shower, the time was quarter to ten. While showering, I measured the bathtub for fun; it is six feet wide, twenty feet long, and four feet high. There was a subtle scent of red wine in the tub, and that puzzled me. An exotic detergent, perhaps?

  I know some physics, so time should pass at roughly the same speed here as on Earth. The shower lasted for fifteen minutes. I used quite a lot of water, but the sheer size of the tub told me it might be ok. To be on the safe side, I need to check on that, though.

  The warm water was the last drop my exhausted body and mind needed. I slept like a baby, digesting hours worth of a full night. At home, I used to wash in the evenings, so now it feels like morning to me. I still don't feel completely normal after the worm, but Babaru said serious complications are very rare. And there is only one of those. Death.

  So maybe I'm in clear waters. I decided to navigate these waters and head to the café to see if I could get something to eat. Upstairs, Winston made me coffee and scrambled eggs. There was also toast with orange marmalade. If I ate my assumed breakfast at the café’s local time in the evening, no one said anything about it.

  All the products I eat are imported from Earth. I believe that products from other places are also available. Obviously, I’m not interested in them. How the trade is conducted is shrouded in mystery, and I didn’t ask any further questions about finances. It might have led to a discussion about how I pay for my meals and accommodation. My pockets are empty, and I bet my cards won't work here. Now that I think of it, I don’t even know where they are.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Talking to Winston is pleasant, but he keeps his secrets well. The man looks like a former bodybuilder who still takes care of himself. I estimate him to be in his seventies, but considering the circumstances, he could be as old as 170. He exudes a kind of understanding and knowledge of life that cannot be achieved in a normal lifetime. I tried my best to ask more questions about things that interested me, but he said I had to get used to the situation first. I wasn’t ready yet.

  When I asked why my bathtub smells like wine, I was told I was a far cry from that kind of readiness. But his grin told me it was not about detergent. The good news is I should soon find out the reason for being here. Though it is up to Cook to tell me. And I wrote the word "cook" with a capital letter because that is the name of the gray space creature who prepares the actual meals in this café.

  Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Cook wasn’t present. He would return when the clock struck twelve. Winston said he didn't care whether it meant midnight or midday. Everyone could choose for themselves. But without a timekeeper, it was impossible to run a café. It is absolutely necessary to see how time passed slowly over a good cup of coffee or a meal. Lazing around was the word Winston used, I think. Idling too can be measured, as long as you remember to enjoy the process.

  As I left to head back to my place, I said hi to Pearl. I wouldn't dare put my hand near her to pet her. Despite her seeming friendliness, Pearl is the kind of cat that thinks fingers are sausages and sausages are snacks. In response, she gave me a half-open eye and a sharp snort. I can't interpret it as either hostile or friendly. Cat-like, perhaps. Babaru was somewhere, but behind Winston's counter was the café’s other translator, Wurp. He is Babaru's brother. I exchanged a few words with Wurp, and he seemed just as nice as his sister. My first friends might just be angular. That's okay. I don’t mind the shape. Winston is friendly too, but it's still hard to see behind his work role. Bartenders are supposed to be friendly.

  Next, I will try to establish some kind of routine and daily rhythm for myself. It remains to be seen how that will work without sunrises and sunsets. I do have a clock, but living with it has always felt very stressful. Now I’m in an environment where I could be without time, but still something in me makes me cling to it.

  Till next time.

  

  
• Johnny