"Does time need us?" asked the man, chewing absently on his slipping teeth. In a disorderly pile of laundry, Barry spied a pair of moth-eaten boxers and wrinkled support hose. "For my circ'lation," said the man.
  "You're a traveler?" asked Barry. The old man looked away to his dresser and lifted a gold coin. "You know, through time."
  "Dime?" asked the man, turning to face Barry and squinting. "No, mother's gold coin.
   Barry picked up the coin. One of those limited-run dollar coins, where they finally get a woman's head on a coin that no one seems to be able to use. On one side the head of a Native American woman.
   "Minted by time," said the old man.