Wake up in my car. I’m in a familiar town but takes me a while to recognize it as the place where I lived back in the 80s. Slight wind, leaves slow motioning over road. The works. I walk a few blocks to my former house and notice everything looks weird. People is not dressed right. Long white socks to the knees. Cars are old. Lots of afros and mustaches. Bell bottoms. Even the sunlight is strange. I pick up a newspaper from the gutter. It’s 1981. I keep walking to my house. Distressed. I moved there at some point in 81 but couldn’t remember the date. It looks the same. I open the gate and walk right in. It’s not my house. Two teenagers approach me. Can I help you? One of them I know. Frank Whaley. Not 15 yet. And the other one is young Tom fucking Cruise. I can’t stop watching him. I pull Frank aside. We went to school together. Dude, look at my face. He looks at me and frowns. Are you Gordon’s dad? I’m Gordon and somehow I traveled back in time from 2016. I need your help. It takes me a while to convince him until I show him my drivers license and credit cards. We sit. Tom sits with us. I tell them I’m sorry for getting in their house and that I need a bit of money and help locating my family. They both agree and ask me if I know their future. I tell them a bit. I tell Cruise to keep doing whatever he’s doing because he’ll be BIG. He asks me if someone else I know will be famous. I say that Frank will be famous. And for some reason I ask if he knows Woody Harrelson. Cruise makes a great impression of Woody and we all laugh. He’ll be famous too. Then I head out. I tell them I’m gonna get my car. Be back in 10. But before I go I turn and warn them. If I don’t come back, do not take planes or be in New York or Washington on September 11, 2001. It’s complicated. Terrorists. They don’t understand but promise to follow instructions, I walk away. Half way to my car I find a cemetery full off dirty ducks and seagulls just walking around. In the distance I see my car but when I check my pocket I notice I left my keys in Tom Cruise’s house. Damn it. I walk back looking at all the details on everything. Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, Kangaroo sneakers, Crystal Pepsi. I laugh. Absolutely ridiculous. Then I notice there are cops in front of Tom Cruises’ house. I try to backtrack but Whaley and Cruise point in my direction. That’s the guy. The terrorist! I run away. Fast. Have to reach the cemetery I think. The car. Then wake up. Naturally.