Four minutes.

We lived about forty miles from the airport. Small town, clear on the outskirts of a big city with a big air freight hub. So an airplane would fly over our house once every four minutes.

They were high enough and far enough that the sound wasn't disruptive; it was quieter than street traffic. Much quieter than the marching band practicing over at the high school, three blocks away.

But if you knew about the airplanes they provided an audible clock. If you knew what time it was when one passed by you knew what time it was when the next one did, and so on.

So I can't tell you the exact minute, but I can tell you the first time she kissed me was somewhere between 3:58pm and 4:02pm.