Larry doesn’t know he’s a time traveler, but that doesn’t stop him. Stumbling through time and space, under the power of special tacos and sheer chutzpah, Larry’s pretty sure there’s a great party right around the next corner. What’s in front of him is another story. From high seas kidnapping, to gangs of velociraptor time smugglers, to the robotic legions of the Grand Cyberian Imperium, Larry takes it all in stride. He knows that other dude he keeps running into has got his back.
That other dude, call him Ishmael, is a seasoned time traveler and expert in the subtle art of chronochaching. Ishmael knows how delicate the balance of the continuum truly is and what kind of consequences are in store for those who tip it. When he meets Larry in that waterfront saloon in 1885, he knows he should walk away, but he can’t. Larry just might be dumb enough to accidently destroy the universe.
Inexorably bound to the clueless grunge-head from 1994, Ishmael must steer Larry clear of the sorts of cosmological close calls that keep theoretical physicists up at night. Larry, on the other hand, is just looking for a beer, a taco and a hot chick to share it with.
About the Author
Although he will often deny this at parties, Andrew Coltrin's fiction is not actually based on his own experiences as a time traveler. That line never really gets him anywhere at parties anyway. At various points in his life, Coltrin has worked in bookstores, coffee shops, and special education classrooms. He tends to regard various modes of rail transportation as members of his extended family and owns more manual typewriters than is absolutely necessary. Once upon a time he made zines about being abducted by terribly mundane aliens who forced him to wear polyester and sell tickets at a movie theater. Now he's too busy checking Facebook on his smartphone to play with photocopiers. Which is a shame. I hope he's proud of himself and what he's done to his family.