The day that already was
Marie entered the café knowing exactly what was about to happen: The waitress would stumble, the man at the window would laugh, and the radio would play "Moon River." Everything happened. Only this time the waitress didn't stumble.
Marie approached her and asked if they knew each other. "Yes," the waitress said quietly. "But not here. Last time." Marie knew it wasn't a joke. It was a thread between times—one you can only touch once before it dissolves again.
