The Twenty Second

 Here i sit, buns a flexin

I just gave birth

To another Texan

This is the graffiti i saw in the crapper in Brunswick as i was taking a dump just before i left and it seeps into my mind like sewage as the Timeship Fight the Future materializes early in the morning of November 22, 1963, right in the shadow of the Texas School Book Depository.  I am in awe of the place and time, the only one here who has any grasp of the forces at work, of the inertia that is carrying destiny by a hangnail.

And if you dont know me, I am Colonel Jim Chones of the Time Police, on an unauthorized mission in a brand new timeship i stole centuries from now to take a shot in the dark at correcting an evil that will just not die.

There is none of the torture that accompanied transits on the old ships; only a very unsettling moment when i felt like i am somehow turned inside out and back again, then a very gentle settling sensation as the ship seems to pop out of time and back in only much earlier.  There are no surveillance cameras here and all i have to do is step out, make the ship invisible, and walk away.  Or rather into the building and up to the sixth floor window where fate will move its huge hand, hopefully in a different direction.  Right now the Secret Service agents that have caroused all night are waking up with regrets but not as many as they’ll have later if i cant change things.

It will be hours before anything happens.  The shit hit the fan about 12:30 PM which means Oswald or whoever fired two shots at Kennedy comes up here and sets up at this window.  I have terrible doubts.  Nobody actually saw Oswald fire the shots; two witnesses actually placed him in one of the two lounges in this building when the shots were fired.  He couldnt have been there and here at the same time.

Oswald will ride to work in a car with someone who swore he couldnt have had anything with him but a bag lunch, much less a rifle.  Did he hide it in here somewhere?  Why take the risk it would be found?  How did the Dallas Police have a good description of him before anyone knew he was a suspect?  Were they infiltrated?

My fretting mind will not stop until i drop into a deep sleep behind some crates of books where i can see anyone who moves toward the window.  I come awake suddenly and notice it is much later and i can hear the sigh of elevators and dissonance of conversations and muted footsteps in this place.  As far as i can tell no one’s even been up here yet.  But that’s going to change fast.


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