At the curb, a girl on a Moped with platinum hair set down her kickstand, dismounted. She consulted the awning and then a scrap of paper she held.
  "Now," said Tab, "Isn't it beautiful. I'm a matchmaker."
  As the woman approached the table of three men, hesitantly, Barry recognized Vanity Plait, minus her phone. She seemed confused, but the men sat grinning.
  "I have just made history," said Tab, finishing his drink. "And now I'm history."
"Wait." Barry lunged and grabbed Tab's arm before he could look at his picture cube. "Where am I? Why are you following me?"