“Who was it?” I demand, trying to keep my voice cool and collected while my insides writhe uncomfortably. None of them make eye contact. They look around, focusing on a crumpled paper towel by the trashcan, or the dishes stacked by the sink, or the dog. Anywhere but at me.
“When the clocks turn back, for an instant, you are simultaneously in today and yesterday. Or today and tomorrow. I’m not entirely sure which it is. I always get confused, that's why I steer clear of time travel all together.”
The temperature dipped markedly and the cicadas’ songs quieted, replaced by the excited chatter of a hundred families, all eagerly awaiting the big moment.
I never thought I would die in a toilet.