The waiter was called over. Uncanny. He seemed strangely familiar. But without time, there was no context. And there was an added attitude, more fitting this faux-Paris cafe. Or was it the timelines on his face that had been newly inscribed like days counted out on a wall? Under his beret, could his afro have been white? When Barry looked back, Tab had disappeared.
  Barry thought of warning Vanity, but glancing at a wall inside the restaurant, he saw a painting of a snow-speckled hillside in the dark.