My future dad is wondering where I am by now. He’s probably already notified Disney security. They’re scouring the campground right at this very moment. It might even be morning, since it’s turning to dusk around here. Then again, do I exist in the future if I’m here now? The thought makes my stomach hurt. Jason weaves his cart through the streets with the same expertise Dina did yesterday, if you can call it “yesterday.” And he’s right. There are no log cabins now. Just loop after loop of trailers all in a row. On the seat between us is a folded-up newspaper—the Orlando Sentinel. The date—July first, 1982. There’s a review for the movie Blade Runner on it: “Futuristic Thriller Fails to Make the Cut.” Wow. The cult classic my dad’s always talking about? Got a bad review? For shame, Father. I want to take a picture but remember the dead battery. Ergh. Mental picture instead. “So you came to enjoy the Fourth of July weekend and ended up getting in a fight with your old man instead.
