The flamingo dropped the folder on the table. Inside were photographs—Harold, but older. Harold, standing in a ruined city. Harold, holding a device that looked like a microwave welded to a toaster. Harold, screaming at the sky.
His father looked at the glowing thumb. “Ah. That’s new.” harold kumar 3
“What is this?” Harold whispered.
The front door creaked open.
“I didn’t disappear into a black hole,” his father said quietly. “I created one. In the basement. To fix the first timeline you broke.” The flamingo dropped the folder on the table
Harold sat in the dim glow of his bedroom, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Three months had passed since the Incident—that’s what his mother called it now, voice lowering whenever she said the words. Three months since he had accidentally broken the space-time continuum by sneezing into a microwave while trying to reheat leftover curry. Harold, holding a device that looked like a