Hardly any time

As soon as I arrive here, I take off my watch and lay it on a chair next to my bed. From then on I live without time, as much as possible. Days go by, weeks, and the only time I keep is when cooking: eleven minutes for the potatoes, forty minutes for the rice, nine minutes for the pasta (sometimes a little longer) and thirty minutes, then fifty minutes and finally thirty five minutes for the bread. Stuff like that.
Time becomes food.
We eat it.
And if time has done it's work well, the food is good.
Otherwise there is hardly any time at all, until we leave. Which is all too soon.