I've been doing this job fifteen years. Fifteen years of watching rich people travel through time and come back with stories they'll tell at dinner parties. I don't judge them. I get paid to watch them. That's the deal.
The name's Tom Calloway. I live in a apartment in Harlem, drive a '58 Ford that needs a new carburetor, and on weekends I sit in Central Park and watch the leaves fall. It's not much of a life, but it's honest. The client that day was a fat man named Harrington. Sixty years old, maybe more, with a face like a pudding that had been left out too long. He wore a suit that cost more than my annual...
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