Hurrying because I’m late, I rush out of my door and down the few steps onto Sotheby Road. Believing too easily in Einstein’s equations that prove space and time are mutable, I set out for the meeting at the time I should I arrive. I’ve picked up various things on my exit from the house that now surround me in a quantum cloud of probability. I find the ugly white car, pull out of the parking place and turn the corner whilst fastening my seat belt. I take back routes. I decide upon options as they arise, I save seconds here and minutes there and fully believe that I can go backwards in time.
I pull up to the destination late – but not so late that it’s a crime. I pick up the things from the passenger seat but something is missing. Winding time backwards till I leave the house I can see myself with keys in right hand, bag on shoulder, and Palm-Pilot in left. Wind forward to the car – keys in hand, bag on shoulder and Palm-Pilot on the roof.
After a distracted meeting I retrace my route – trying to drive slowly enough to scan the gutters and corners. By picturing the black case sitting on the tarmac I am willing it to exist. I arrive back in Sotheby Road and the parking space is gone.