‘When I was seven the summer seemed to last half a lifetime.’ George placed his pint on the counter. ‘And there was sun. Now they just seem to zip by in endless showers.’
‘It was a different time. Was different time. A year when you were seven was a seventh of your life, the first four of which you barely remembered. A year now is a seventieth. Of course, a few months seemed like forever.’
‘You’re saying that time is relative?’
‘I could be, aye.’
A bell rang. ‘Time please, Gentleman! And ladies.’
‘It soon will be. Time, that is.’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.