“Seven minutes…” Mack said. “What can anyone do in seven minutes? Make seven minute eggs, walk a few hundred yards, write a note, sing a song, say hello. Waste it thinking of what to spend it on.”

He kicked a stone. “People today complain too much about what they can’t change.”

The digital watch on his wrist blinked incessantly. Mack resisted looking at it for as long as he could bear before bringing it up and shielding the display from the bright light with a cupped hand.

“A minute and a half,” he sighed. “At this rate, seven minutes might as well be seven years.”