I stood there, within my own story, dressed in a panama hat, a brown trench coat, black sweatpants, a flannel shirt, and sneakers. There was no breeze, so my ponytail didn’t flap. I simply stood there, my hands in my pockets and my magic Nerf gun at my side, looking out at the sunrise. I stroked my goatee, trying to give the impression of contemplation, but ended up looking like a dork. “You’re early,” said a voice. I turned to see my version of Optimus in robot mode.
“No, you’re just late,” I said. He tossed me a bacon-cheeseburger while he took out a bag of Energon munchies. We sat and ate in silence for a while until I spoke. “March 31, 2015,” I said.
“Whus th da fo?” asked Optimus.
“Didn’t Ironhide or your mom teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” I asked. Optimus swallowed, then spoke again.
“What’s the date fo