March 4
“I was only back a few months, relative to this point,” he says. “I was just going to have a look at how my great grandparents got together, and see if I could use that as a little bit of inspiration. See, I’m a writer, and in my time dramatic genealogy is a big seller, especially with the whole ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ thing.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say, frowning. “You were in the past to watch your ancestors hook up? For a book?”
“It sounds lame now,” he says, “but the story about my great-great grandfolks went to number seventeen on the New York Times bestseller list.”
Unbefreakinleivable. “You’re a perv.”
“Blame society,” he shrugs. “Anyway, I don’t know how long this thing has been on me, but since I can see it now, I don’t have long. You gotta tell me what I screwed up, and how long I have to fix it.”
“Hold it,” I say. “I don’t ‘gotta’ tell you jack. This is your problem, not mine.”
“I know,” he says, “but you’re the only one who can.” I look at his eyes again… and I know he’s telling the truth. I can’t tell how I know, but I do… and it pisses me off.
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