"Excuse me," Barry asked, his throat scratchy and dry. "Can you tell me what year it is?"
  "What!" hollered the man.
  "He wants to know what time it is," the old woman put her arm around his shoulder.
  "So do I, God dammit!"
  "What?" Barry asked. "What did you just say?"
  "Pay no attention to him. He's chronic."
  "Chronic what?" Barry asked.
  "Chronic is me!" yelled the man, practically shoving the woman off the bench as he threw off her arm.
  "What? Oh, he's crazy. Always has been." Then under her breath. "Time moves him, you see."