It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a temporal regression, but it was certainly the most interesting.

Our friend, Jack, changed from a grouchy middle aged man to a pimply, whiny kid with all the gesticulations and flappability of a world class mime artiste.

“What have you done to me?” he wailed. Then stopped, looking at the street. “Hey, we used to live here. This was my home.”

“It still is kid,” I told him. “Your daddy was smart, kept his investments where they were safest. Only someone messing with the temporal flows screwed it up for him.”

I didn’t mention that it was one of our junior clerks, Gary, that had done all the damage.

“Cool!”

The kid ran into the house, yelling.

“Good to have you back, Murray,” Les said.

“Must have been a bad one,” I agreed. “To wipe out all my memories. Still haven’t quite finished yet. Just got that church down the road to sort out and then to deal with Gary.”

“Yes, Director,” Les nodded. “Rip him a new one, please.”