We set our stuff down on a bench table there and light the candles. I pour two large measures of whisky and sit down in one of the large wooden seats....You press the play button on the stereo and adjust the sound level as the music starts. You take your whisky and down it in one. As the haunting voice of Beth Gibbons begins to sing, you start to dance slowly around my chair. I sit back and savor my whiskey as I watch you. Your breasts slowly swaying under your dress as you dance, your eyes. "It doesn't have to be time travel," ventured Brock. "Don't forget, we're dealing with something that can re-write what we see as real. Maybe ... I dunno. Maybe I did have time to completely write that routine, and then made myself forget it? Or ... something," he finished weakly."Why on earth would you make yourself forget what you'd done?" I asked. "How does that make any sense at all?"Brock shrugged."Maybe he didn't make himself forget." This from Lisa, who spoke up unexpectedly and then. More

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