The Time Traveller glanced at the watch on his left wrist as he hurried to the indicator boards.
He looked up at the panel and cursed; he needn’t have rushed. The 4:14 to Poughkeepsie was running 8 minutes late. He checked the watch on his right wrist and did the calculation. The delay meant that he would disembark in April 1934 instead of January 1935. Why must time travel be routed through the notoriously unreliable Grand Central? Why not Zurich?
Nine months was a long time to wait. This was supposed to have been a quick job, a 5 minute redirection in an insignificant person’s life. A simple stitch.
The Time Traveller looked down at his small red suitcase. He would need a few more books. The book store, however, was on the other side of the station. He would never make it there and back before the train left. He smirked. If only he could travel through time, he thought.
He sighed, picked up his suitcase, and headed for the platform.
