What could be more intimate than a watch lovers’ connection with the straps, bracelets, and bands that attach their beloved time piece to their wrist. In this new publication from TER, noted author and philanthropist, D. Bater, explores the tactile and intimate relationship that we all have for these methods of embracing our watches. He explores the metaphors, legends, stories, and fibs, behind the straps of some of our biggest stars and historical figures. From the “bit ‘o lace” used by President James Buchanan to the industrial adhesive preferred by Sid Vicious the relationship is explored through short quotes and vignettes, with beautiful nearly professional quality photographs and printing that we have been promised won’t smudge. Here is a sample of “A Man & His Strap”:
When the tumor began to shrink, and they no longer wanted me at the hospital I returned to my room in Tashkent. What little I owned was still there in the sack, the stained blue shirt, the pen knife, and the watch that Natalia had bought for me years ago. I went to put it on and the band fell off in my hand. Everything in this country is broken, I thought to myself. I put the watch in my pocket and stuffed the shirt back into the bag.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
I had read about it, heard about it, searched for it. But man, I wasn’t ready for it. Most people live their whole lives searching for meaning but only a few see the Green Flash. Whoa, whoa, whoa. It is a thing. Sunset, walking around the cove, looking down at my wrist, and then up and, Whoa. Flash of Green. Did I imagine it, dream it. We all walk around in a dream. Wake up. Just keep livin’.
Matthew McConaughey
Time had no meaning in Tangier. Maybe it was the Benzedrine or the Eukodol, maybe both. Yeah, wish I had slept, the brown leather was soaked with sweat. It reminded me of the brown Arab boys running through the souk, running down the narrow streets through what had been the Spanish Protectorate, doing arabesques in the doorways and alleys, calling in high voices, full of life.
William S. Burroughs
Frank had taken the blond one. He was in his Nordic phase. “You take the short one, it will jiggle when you slap it,” he said. No doubt, this one’s dimples had dimples. It was almost time to call Sylvia, or at least that’s what Mr. Hamilton said. All I could hear was the band in the bar and the steady stream of questions from her. So many questions. She slid her finger under my watchband. I was like “time to call Sylvia”. I put a twenty into her palm, said “Sugar, I got to go,” and bolted to the elevator.
Joey Bishop
Order yours today.
The Escapement Room 