The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
March 16, 2005


Manolo and I just got back from watch shopping. These days they have watches that can't tell you the time even if you stare right into them. The watch folks are falling over each other to be clever, so much so that a simple thing like respectible Helvetican craftsmanship seems to have slipped oddly to the storm drain. All I want are two hands and twelve numbers. And a sweep second hand. And a chronograph and ideally an altimeter, which is a lot of fun when you're flying. I little light is handy at night too. And time zones. That reminds me, I need to fax my lawyer a sketch for a watch idea I had as we drove home. I didn't mention it to Manolo, though. He'll be surprised when he's no longer the only patent-holder under this roof. Good bye, Diary.

[signed] Nick

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