“I did WHAT?!”

We got shot some odd looks by the customers seated around us at Zoe’s outburst.
I glared at her to keep her voice down, she mouthed sorry to a few of the other patrons and the shop’s ambience resumed to normal.

“I did what?!,” she semi-whispered this time.

“No joke, m’dear. You were worse than Mike Tyson with this guy! You didn’t have to bite his ear off, cos you pretty much punched it off. You knocked him for six! You turned him into a human omelette! You—”

“OK, fine, yes, I get the picture.” She took a deep breath, exhaled and took a tentative sip of her particularly complex coffee. (I still can’t remember what it’s called; its title is so long, it’s practically Biblical.)

“Have you ever done that sort of thing before?”

“Do I look as if I’ve experienced this before?”

“Only asking!”

“And I’m only telling.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.”

She paused, figuring out how to explain this. “Just so I’m clear: I can actually slow down time, almost to the point of stopping it?”

“Yep…”