The time traveller

I’m sitting on the edge of a bridge, the glow of the streetlamps cast shadows across the cobbled road. I look up and see a lonely old man, lumbering down to the other side of the bridge. He glances up and catches my eye. His eyes are grey and expressionless, but when I smile slightly I see a glimmer of something like a little fire just sparked inside of his heart.

I look down, not being the sort of person to start small talk, and see a flash of green light. I look up, hoping he hasn’t electrocuted himself or something, and he’s gone. What is left in his place is the faint sound of ticking and an empty and crumpled up postcard. I look around, trying to see to the edge of the bridge, but the fog is too thick. I can’t see my own hand in front of my face. Huh, the fog wasn’t that thick before. I hear the click-clack of footsteps on the cobbled lane like someone is wearing really polished shoes. The footsteps are accompanied by the metallic clink on a cane with a metal end. Ticking sounds envelop me like more fog. A man who looks to be in his late thirties stalks towards me. He walks with a cane, although he doesn’t look old enough or hurt enough to need one.
“Young lady, may I ask you a question?”
I jump down from my place on the edge of the bridge, getting ready to make an escape if he tries to murder me or something.
“Um, I guess?”
“What year is it?”
“It’s 2018”
“Where?”
“London”
The man furrows his brow.
“Fiddlesticks. I’m in the wrong decade…” he mumbles.
“Sir, are you alright?” I say. Not only is this guy dressed for the 1960s, be he’s acting like he’s just escaped from a sanitorium. He pulls a watch out from his coat pocket
“No, I seem to be about 70 years forward from where I’m meant to be”
‘Oh. Okay, Um, do you need an uber or something?”
‘No, no… I’ll be fine, thank you…’
He turns and meanders back into the thick fog.

You know what, I think I’m just going to go home…
So I get up and start walking.

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