The fiction writer kept looking for the door, found the bar instead. Every so often, she would go to the clock behind the punch bowl, turn back the hands, and stop the party: Look! Everyone, it’s midnight! she cried. And people would stop, laugh, raise their glasses, or kiss the person next to them. In so doing, she created a fiction that brought humor, joy, and entertainment – a truth (love) of sorts – to an audience that was decidedly her own. In this way, the night , the year – the time – was spent.