Click: true moments collected over the years. Stories too short for the stage.
I open her letter eagerly. It’s dated June 4, 2014.
“Meet me at Union Station,” the letter whispers. “Under the clock.”
At 11 AM I am standing under the clock. Heart beating fast, reading the same page of my book over and over again.
At 11:03 she sidles up to me, wearing a dress that was new in 1957.
“Are you…” she says out of the corner of her mouth.
I fumble the money out of my wallet with nervous fingers. “Yes. Yes.”
She stands close and hands me the typewriter ribbon. “We have more,” she murmurs. “For next time.”
And then she sweeps off, going down two, three, four flights of stairs to find her time machine hidden in a dusty broom closet and turns the dials and puts a fresh sheet of paper in her Underwood Noiseless and types: “Go.”