When I get to my apartment and the key doesn’t fit, I realize I’ve done it again.
Good thing I checked the manual that day. In #088, they’re all equipped with self-eject buttons, labeled with the same symbol that’s used for in-seat heaters in our universe. In #287 and #381, the gas pedal’s on the opposite side. In #497, people drive on the wrong side of the road. Even in this dimension, cars have each got their quirks, but elsewhere, those little differences can be deadly. I’ve tried to drive cars in parallel universes, just because no one stops me, but they’re tricky. It’s the safest mode of transportation when I’m dimension-jumping, and it’s all I’m allowed here.
Something fluffy and filled with the kind of one-liners that transcend dimensions, jokes that I can laugh at without worrying whether they have a deeper meaning somewhere else or what my shrink would say. I’ve spent the last twelve hours in the makeshift lab I threw together in the basement of the University, tucked away in some long-forgotten storage closet where the boxes of toilet paper are so old that the brands that produced them don’t exist anymore.Īll I want to do now is go home, nuke myself one of those Salisbury steak meals that always burns my tongue, boil a pot of tea, and curl up with a good book. It happens most often on days like today.
Sometimes I forget which universe I’m in.
0 kommentar(er)
