Let me tell you about September 3, again.

It was a Wednesday, so I was on my way to work, you know, like any regular person. My place was about fifteen minutes from the nearest train station. I walked past residential high rises and nothing else. When I was about five minutes away, I suddenly realized my train pass wasn’t in my pocket—I was wearing the trench coat I just took out that morning. Anyway, I stopped and fished my wallet out of the briefcase, found the ticket inside, all good, and I kept on walking.

Then this young man fell straight from the sky and landed less than ten feet in front of me. It was so fast that I didn’t even see the fall. It was like there was this empty pavement, then I blinked, and then he was there.

The woman in front of me wants to supersize her black coffee. Her outfit is classic corporate and her perfume has an aggressive oud note. I don’t remember seeing or smelling her. Has she just moved here? She rushes past me after getting her order, almost bumping me out of the way—surprisingly strong for someone her size. Is she really just a white-collar worker or is she something else?

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

“You mean the procedure or what happens afterwards?” Dr. Hughes tightens the straps around my wrists and my chest, so I guess that’s a “Yes”. For whatever reason, his name tag is handwritten, and the first few letters have taken up most of the place. “Dr. Hug” isn’t exactly a forward thinker.

“Nevermind.” I would’ve shrugged if I could.