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The Vault

Fiction & Essays from Vaulted Watch

ESSAY

The Borrowed Heart

The Holy Trinity is Patek Philippe, Audemars Piguet, Vacheron Constantin, and you're meant to recite it the way you recite a creed — three names, no substitutions, no questions. So I'll ask one. What is Audemars Piguet doing in there?

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ESSAY

The Third Omega

But here is what I actually want to tell you, and it has less to do with escapements than with time itself, the thing all of this is supposed to be about.

ESSAY

Pride and Joy

Louann was the only girl in a house full of brothers — wiry, grizzled men who looked like they’d been cut out of a cigarette ad. My great uncle Bud had the Marlboro Man’s mustache and his weathered skin, and any one of those men would just as soon whip your ass as pat you on the back. She came up in that house and came out of it tough as nails.

FICTION

Salary Man

Naomi Uemura’s body was never recovered. He radioed down from the Denali summit on February 13, 1984, and then the mountain kept him. What follows is one of the days that might have been.

ESSAY

Somebody's Old Watch

Nobody climbed Everest with one. Nobody conquered space wearing one. It belongs to the vast anonymous middle of civilization—the people who actually keep the lights on.

FICTION

Dedicated Service

A few weeks after he was fired, a package arrived in the mail. It was his one-year anniversary gift. The card inside thanked him for his "Dedicated Service." It was signed by the head of HR. She had been dead for three months. Dedicated Service is a short story about layoffs, marriage, a traveling salesman, a Cartier Pasha, and the strange comfort we sometimes find in unexpected places. 7-minute read.

FICTION

Harold Isaacs Lives

Harold Isaacs was the lone survivor of a small plane crash in the lowland jungle southeast of Cusco, Peru when he was just a boy of thirteen. The two other passengers were his uncle Jack, who died on impact, and the pilot, who lived two more days pinned in the twisted metal of the cockpit.

ESSAY

Dead Reckoning

Everybody wants to talk about the Rolex. Fine. The GMT-Master is a beautiful object and it knows it — the way a certain kind of leading man knows it — and after a while all that self-possession curdles into a performance you've paid too much to sit through. The Seiko Navigator Timer doesn't perform. It works. That is the entire difference, and it is everything.

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