The man had a wool hat pulled down over the white curls of his hair. A scarf wrapped around his face muffled his voice and hid his face.
  "They're B old man. Bummers, Barry. Ones after the nuclear holocaust, ones where Hitler rules the Earth, where there is no Q in the alphabet, where the U.S. is taken over by Canada, where the sexual revolution fails. Capital B for boring time lines."
  "Time is what you make of it," said the old man.
  "Go suck a watch, gramps," said Tab. "Sorry, Barry, we can't exactly choose our company here." Tab ran fingers through his feathered hair. "You see, chum, I like to fuck with time."
  "Is it very satisfying?" asked Barry, feeling the pitch of the green drink.