So the verdict: My dearest Astroboy (at least, the rare French Astroboy version) shall once more transform his feet into rockets, cross-continenting it to my rainy overcast October sky.
Being in the same time zone is of major significance, you people who take time zones for granted.
Suddenly, the minutes, seconds and hours on the clock play evil tricks. The seconds add an additional 50 seconds to their supposed-one minute, just to spite me.
And the hours are worse because they decide that one hour is equivalent to 179 minutes. But the days… the days are plain cruel because they make a day feel like two.
What’s ‘paranoid’? I am not.
