Quote:
1. You know, I've always liked camping. (None)
2. I found a clothesline. (Stolen off a clothesline; low-class or poorly meshing)
3. Some under-the-table work. (Middleish income)
2. I found a clothesline. (Stolen off a clothesline; low-class or poorly meshing)
3. Some under-the-table work. (Middleish income)
Where Jordan was was obvious. When, not so much. The first clue was the way people were dressed, the workers taking down the banner and other people walking past. It looked kind of like photos he'd seen of his great-grandparents, which meant that he'd been thrown pretty far back in time (such a weird idea, he thought distantly, although considering everything, maybe it wasn't too weird at all. What was one more impossible thing in a slowly growing litany of impossible things?), and he'd probably need to find some way to get some clothes so that he wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. When exactly? That was the question.
The newspaper cost him a penny, which was its own kind of weird. The kid selling the newspapers didn't really look at the penny Jordan had handed him, which was a relief; if the clothes and the price of a paper were indicative, pennies probably still had wheat sheaves on the back and he sure as hell didn't have any of those. He left quickly, feeling a slight twinge of conscience over handing off what would probably be taken as some kind of weird counterfeit.
1922. It was 1922, according to the date on the paper, and Jordan had to stop and lean against the wall of a nearby building, hoping that he just looked like he was engrossed in the paper and not like he was having a dizzying moment of disorientation, displacement. He was in 1922, and he really hoped that what Sunday had said about nobody remembering him once he was gone would prove to be true. He should probably still try to blend in better, because he was getting some weird looks.
There was a clothesline in back of a house down one of the side streets, and he saw nobody around. He'd have to remember that the absence of a car in front of a house didn't mean nobody was home in this time, he reminded himself. But nobody came out of the house to chase him off as he hastily collected an outfit that looked about the right size. The twinge of guilt was considerably stronger this time, but he promised himself he'd return the clothes as soon as he could manage it.
Further down the street was a house with no curtains in the windows, and when Jordan detoured into the yard for a quick look, it became obvious that the house was empty. He circled into the back yard and checked the back door. It was locked, but there was a shed further back, sitting against the neighbor's fence with its door ajar. He changed inside the shed, tucking his jeans and sweater away on a dusty, empty shelf. He could probably stay here if he couldn't find anywhere else, he decided; it would at least keep him from getting snowed on if he had to camp out. And it was likely that he'd have to camp out if he had to stay in this time for any length of time, since his money was too new to be used here. Whatever he was expected to do in this time would not be accomplished if he got himself arrested for passing counterfeits. He didn't expect that "but Officer, I'm from the future" would fly if someone took a few moments to look at the date on his coins.
It took a few hours, but asking around after possible jobs for someone new in town eventually brought him to the back door of a restaurant and a quick, impromptu interview with a cook who allowed as how he might need a boy to do some dishes, and he might not have to do any kind of paperwork if nobody felt like doing any paperwork. Jordan didn't object to being called boy, because a job was a job and he sure as hell couldn't produce any kind of credentials for an actual hiring process. Money was money, and when he departed some hours later, tired and a little damp, he had a few coins in his pocket. Enough to get him some dinner, at least, he thought.
