“Wanna travel through time?” He asked, whispering it in my ear, his breath is warm despite the blustery November wind blowing through the street. He looked at me, raised his eyebrows in childish anticipation, and said, “I’ve got the ticket back home, in my apartment.”
I had no idea what he meant but grew feverish with delight, following him through the dark Manhattan blocks to the underground station bound for Brooklyn, arriving at our stop just before ten.
Three blocks south we arrived at his apartment. In his basement he held up a thumb sized baggie. “Buckle up,” he said smiling.