The train continued rumbling toward the station. Without the man’s confirmation, Charles had no way of escaping the present moment. The muscles in his neck were already beginning to tense. All he could do was watch the train’s approach with increasing dread.

“I need the fucking INCORRECT time!” Charles yelled. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the older man glaring at him.

“Have you lost your mind, son?” The man’s paper flew out of his lap but abruptly stopped as the train applied its breaks…falling to the ground like it suddenly acquired the weight of a heavier object, maybe an orange.

Unable to move now, Charles watched as the train came to a hault in front of him and throngs of passengers stepped off the train. Some in pink bonnets, others with spiked hair and headphones.

“Incorrect time, please?” Charles asked repeatedly. Most of the passengers ignored him or gave him a strange look. The last passenger to disembark was an attractive man in black leather with cold, blue eyes and a chain.