2 G R E G O R Y J A M E S relation to me. My parents always insisted that he was my broth- er, but I have my serious doubts. Lee, please say “hi” to our readers. Hi! Lee, I told you to say hi, you don’t have to wave. This is a book; they cannot see you. Oh, on the contrary, James, through the use of vivid, visual word pictures, I’m quite certain they can all see my friendly, courteous, yet fully appropriate hand gesture. In fact, I’m even sure that a few of them are waving back. You’re insane. Oh, am I? Am I really? I’m not the one who built a time machine… Shhh! Quiet, Lee! I had yet to reveal that information to the readers. It was supposed to be a surprise. Well, it’s not now. Besides, it wasn’t a good surprise, if I may say so, which I just did. It is kind of…how shall I say—cliché-ish. “Cliché-ish?” That’s not even a word! Of course it’s a word! I just used it, didn’t I? You really are a tiny little man. And it’s time for you to be quiet. I must get the audience up to speed with our current predicament. Yes, sorry, James… Please proceed with the story, O Great All-Powerful Narrator… And for the audience, I am now waving good-bye. Lovely. Now, where was I? Oh yes… You all probably would like to know about the time machine, am I right? Well, there real- ly isn’t much to speak of. It’s like any other typical time machine one might find laying around after a global catastrophe. I crafted it out of the finest scrap material and salvaged technology that money could buy. It looks much like— A big pile of junk! Err… I was going to say a Toyota Prius. Yes, that’s what I said…a big pile of junk.