by Andrew Neil McDonald
"We exist within a glitch of the space-time continuum," he said, hands flailing, "and are doomed to relive this exact moment, this exact conversation, forever."
Marty laughed. Of course this would happen. All he had wanted was to take a walk through the Myriad Gardens: get some air in his lungs and his mind off Celia, and the next thing he knew this old codger was in his face talking nonsense.
Yet, there was something familiar about the man; the shadow of someone he once knew.