On the bench, as the pale Cleopatra, was Molly herself. How had they gotten here? Why was Molly wearing such a pointy bra?
  From behind Barry came a voice, vaguely familiar.
  "Who told you to stop?" barked photographer stepping out from behind a phalanx of lights and reflective screens. The man had that 80s New Wave boy band couture, parachute pants, floor-length duster.
  "She did," replied the soldier, who was certainly General Lee Washington, Barry's favorite mechanic. Had he some how also learned how to time travel?
  As the scene broke, Barry looked again upon the set, like some Egyptian playground bought at Target.