Walking down the hillside, crunching on the remains of a thin layer of snow, Barry gave a double take at his rusty old red Charger. "Here I go again on my own" by White Snake coughed through the Charger's slightly cracked, steamed windows. As Barry approached he made out twin shapes, his teenage bod (at least two inches off the waist) and Molly. He felt his index finger twinge as he imagined catching it in her silver dolphin necklace. Closer still, he caught the glint of a peace-sign hair clip hung in the split ends of her spreading hair. "Twinkies," she'd call them, dressed so alike in matching jeans and sweat shirts, except hers hid Greenpeace briefs. The car clock flipped to 12:02.