Trivia night

2011. Rock and roll in the air, and booze, and sawdust... Sawdust? Why does this bar smell like sawdust? There's no time to think. You're up. Why are you talking to yourself? Why is Fred talking to himself? Fred steps away from the scene, goes outside, his team forfeits the point. Jill comes out and asks him what's wrong.

"Nothing!" he says, "I was just thinking that maybe trivia night isn't my scene anymore."

"Yeah," Jill says, with unfelt empathy, "Considering last week when you said dolphins were fish. Maybe it's time to throw in the towel, Fred."

Fred felt both liberated and diminished by this woman.

And over time, the diminishment turned into a hatred of everything in that moment, springtime of 2011, Lost Lomond Irish Pub, Lincoln and 67th Street, 19 minutes before midnight and nothing to do but let the middle class night sag and snap back and leave him asleep and angry every day he was awake.

Dolphins.

1. Fred goes deeper into the woods.
2. Fred puts the dolphin out of its misery.
3. Fred teleports to 2011, Lost Lomond Irish Pub, the trivia night immediately after.
4. Fred breaks down and cries.

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