Like cities, time is not static. It can stay still, advance, and disintegrate alongside its inhabitants. There are pockets that move slower, others that make speedy headways; some are stuck, as if caught in traffic or a crumbling façade left to weather time’s progression. On the main thoroughfare of Bukit Mertajam,  past the outmoded barbershops, watch sellers and sundry stores, was an inconspicuous clothing store. There hung a T-shirt with a perplexing jumble of alphabets, like a prompt asking, “What is the flipside of time?”