Two Bits


by Ari Collins

The time machine strapped his seatbelt and rolled his eyes. “You cannot change the past.”

I pulled off the highway. “I gotta stop the accident.”

“But if your legs hadn’t gotten crushed, would you have ever built me? Hmm?”

“Dunno– What the hell was that?!” I screeched to a stop.

The time machine got out. “That was a little boy’s legs being run over,” he sighed.

“I’m not sure this is my street,” she slurred. “It doesn’t look right.” Her arm around my shoulder was getting heavy.

“Does anything look right to you, right now?” I asked.

She turned her sagging head to the side and looked up at me with one half-open eye, drool dripping from her upper lip. “”You look right. If this is my street, you should come in and have a nightcap. In bed…”

“That’s sweet,” I said. “Maybe sometime when you’re soberer.” Or at least cleaner.

She lifted her head to look down the street again. “This doesn’t look right. But I guess it doesn’t look too wrong.”

“Good enough. Now,” I said, “let’s move onto the next step. Finding your building.”


One Response to “Two Bits”

  1. Sonja Says:

    I really liked the personalized time machine. I’m very curious about him (the time machine just seems more like a him than an it).

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