But Always Meeting Ourselves

But Always Meeting Ourselves The time machine first arrived during the summer I was outside mowing the lawn when it insinuated itself into the shrubbery The time machine was a tall yellow cylinder like a can of pop someone had

The time machine first arrived during the summer I was outside, mowing the lawn, when it insinuated itself into the shrubbery The time machine was a tall yellow cylinder, like a can of pop someone had stretched I remember it smelt like the carpets at my grandmother s house, which I had crawled across as a child I turned off the lawn mower A slot opened in the machine The time machine first arrived during the summer I was outside, mowing the lawn, when it insinuated itself into the shrubbery The time machine was a tall yellow cylinder, like a can of pop someone had stretched I remember it smelt like the carpets at my grandmother s house, which I had crawled across as a child I turned off the lawn mower A slot opened in the machine and my future self climbed out So begins But Always Meeting Ourselves , a darkly comic tale by Leo Hunt about gardening, memories and the terrible consequences of being able to go back.Originally published in issue thirty six of Neon, this short story is now available as an individual eBook edition Read about it at neonmagazine, or visit Leo at coldstarharbor.tumblr.

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But Always Meeting Ourselves

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