“Yes. Me, the bus driver outside, and the thirty kids on board are all pretty sure that’s today.”
I went through my morning classes in a half-conscious fog and then power-chugged two cans of Mountain Dew at lunch to ready myself for the big reveal of last night’s discovery to my one and only non-internet friend, Walter. I told him about everything… The box of tapes, the VCR, the old man who I had come to think of as “Videohead”, the woman in the helmet… And when I was done, he just stared at me with a thoughtful expression on his face. After a beat, he finally said, “You saw Brett Marshal’s car?”
“No. I didn’t.” I replied, a bit bewildered.
“His dad bought him one of those new Mustangs for his birthda…”
“Brett Marshal is a douche!” I suddenly shouted, cutting him off. I was frustrated by Walter’s complete lack of regard for my story and more than a little sleep-deprived, which was enough for me to momentarily space on the fact that I was sitting in the middle of a crowded cafeteria. A cafeteria which immediately fell silent as everyone turned to stare at me.
