Clocks on the wall spoke different hours. He soldered a tiny gear between his thumb and a curse. Soshite watashi wa ojisan ni — and then, to the older man, I returned the broken watch that wasn’t mine. He didn’t ask whose. He just nodded, as if he had been waiting thirty years for this exact lie.
Certainly. Here’s a short poetic piece based on the phrase (“And then, to the older man…”), leaving room for interpretation—nostalgic, eerie, or tender. Soshite watashi wa ojisan ni… soshite watashi wa ojisan ni
—a fragment in three scenes