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On the other side of that big-ass mirror, a video camera was watching us. In about ten seconds, it was going to start spitting static at itself, and everything it saw was going to break up into a fuzzy, gray-white wash, rolling up and down, that wouldn’t be admissible as evidence on Judge Judy. Those missing frames would last a little less than a quarter of a minute, consolidate themselves backinto a semblance of reality, and then I would theoretically go walking right back out of here.Between now and that moment, there stretched an infinite ocean of potentialtime. Time enough to walk around the world. Time enough to fall in love, getmarried on a white beach under purple stars, write a book of poems abouttruest passion, have a few good and bloody screaming matches, get divorced in a court of autumn elves and gypsy moths, then set the ink-stained, tear-streaked pages of your text ablaze.
