Danny and I spent another late night over pancakes. We weren’t heroes, but we had to do something about the Deuce. His timestamp on town was a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

Danny tossed me the evening newspaper. The lead headline: Seinfeld Series Finale Disappoints.

What I was looking for was under that story: Sassy Criminal Taunts Police: I Got Number Seven.

His victims were never identified by name, but there was always a hint. Victim number one was labeled the time traveler’s wife. This had the authorities baffled because they did not believe in time travel, foolish simpletons. We knew for a fact the first time machine was created in Los Alamos, New Mexico in May of 1980.

As the waiter, Billy, refilled my coffee, I made small talk. “Why couldn’t they have ended it like Newhart? Now, that was a clever finale,” I said.

“It was a joke,” Danny agreed.

My heart skipped a beat as my eyes returned to the newspaper. Victim seven was labeled: the amateur television critic.