Mario shimmers into being, shakes off the chronoference nausea and sticks his hand out, waiting for a newspaper to blow into it.
Eventually he opens his eyes. His hand remains empty.
“Goddamn collapse of print media!” he swears.
One of the guys sitting on a nearby cafe patio raises his eyebrow. “What’s the matter?” he asks. “Lose your job?”
“Not exactly,” mutters Mario. “Um. I don’t suppose you have the date?”
“Wow!” says Mario. “Thanks!”
Mako grins. “Now how about you give me your digits?”
“Sure!” says Mario. “But they won’t work until you invent ansibles.”