Someone tell H.G. Wells

Sometimes you walk into a room, or a restaurant, and you’re the only one there, and suddenly the moment steps outside of time. You hold your breath and your brain and watch are on hold.

That’s where I found The Time Traveler. He was eating an Italian sub on the Lower East Side on a Saturday night.

I watched him while I ordered. He didn’t do much. He watched the roaming packs, taking notes in a tiny little book.

I had to ask. “Time Traveler, what are you doing here?”

He thought for a moment, then said. “Pausing, between worlds.”

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