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[outtatime]

[ A » Action; 918 Bilko Boulevard (Morning) ]

[ Jeez it felt like days since Marty last slept. He probably could get away with sleeping all the way until the afternoon but a part of him was pushing him to at least pry one eye open. The last thing he remembers was taking the DeLorean back home with the Doc but everything else is just one huge blur in his head. Chalk it up to getting your atoms scrambled on a near constant basis. Maybe that's what he needed, sleep it off a little more. That subconscious of his seems to have the right idea, it really does feel like he's sleeping on a full size mattress fit for two.

Yeah... just a few more minutes.

But as he shifts from beneath the comforters, something feels kind of off. His eyes finally flutter open that this...is definitely not his bed. Now that reality has caught his attention, his eyes are now wide open and shoots up from bed. ]

[ B » Action; Bilko Boulevard ]

[ Okay so Mayfield, right? Now he just needs to get a date on this place. The newspaper was able to tell him that much but the full year is scratched off. Great. Nineteen fifty-what? Every page he flips, the printed year appears to be nonexistent. Like something purposefully redacted it from the print. Nah, it can't be right. He just needs to get his hands on a better copy. If you're up and about enjoying your daily routine, don't be alarmed if there's a kid near your front yard, opening your trash bins for old newspapers. ]

[ C » Action; Downtown Area ]

[ Well... here we go again. You're probably one of the newer residents, maybe even a pro-Mayfield veteran. Who cares! Marty sure as hell can't tell. So whoever you are, there's a wild Marty from behind yelling-- ]

Excuse me!

Comments

[truffulacide]

[he continues to watch him 'cause, hey, it's not like he has anything better to do right now. he moves a little closer to Marty, standing against the mailbox with one arm propped atop it, his head leaning against the side of his hand.]

Uh-oh. What ha- wait, don't tell me! [he raises a finger in front of his lips, thinking.] ...The mayor decided to take his head out of his butt. He's seen the light and is making arrangements to send us all home, staaaaarting...now!

[a beat.]

Am I right?

[outtatime]

I wish. With a snap of a finger, we'll be back home like nothin' happened. Like one of those weird dreams you have but gets cut short because you got a dog licking your face.

[ Marty will just flip through pages just to make sure he's not going crazy. Yep. No year. Great. ]

Say...Is that the guy responsible for bringing us here to Pleasantville er-Mayfield?

[truffulacide]

Never say never, man. Just 'cause it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't.

Nope; that's what I thought at first, too. The person who brought us here is a guy named Zemeckis, I think. The mayor's just one of his goons.

[outtatime]

Man, what kind of place is this? First I wake up in some house, two kids I'm their dad- all in some town that apparently has no year. It's like I've been warped into some weird alien dimension or something.

[truffulacide]

That's not too far from the truth, actually. As far as I know, this really is another dimension. Everyone here? They're all from different times and places.

[his eyes light up like he privately finds the idea very, very cool.]

Even different planets, if you can believe it.

[outtatime]

Do I have a choice?

[ He's not sure if he should be worried about the time-space continuum or slightly thrilled at the possibility of seeing actual aliens. ]

I'm guessing you don't want this back...

[ He gestures at the newspaper. ]

[truffulacide]

Good point. You could still think it's all a dream and I wouldn't fault you for it, though.

[he gives the paper a look like it's radioactive.]

...Ehhh. Think of it as a housewarming gift. I guess this makes us neighbors now, huh?

[outtatime]

[ Aw, come on man. It's only a few scraps of your leftovers that's smudge on a few spots. Just blow on it and it'll be as good as new. ]

It looks that way. I'm just next door from here.

[ He eyes over at the next white picket fence house with '918' on the mailbox. ]

I'm Marty and hey- I'm sorry about all of uhh... this.

[truffulacide]

I can already tell that our block is going to be the coolest one here.

Once-ler. If this is going to be a regular thing 'round here, I'll set aside a box just for old newspapers and bottles; that way you rock the whole rolling-around-in-filth thing without worrying about getting too smelly.

[outtatime]

Thanks but I think I finally got it out my system. Save that for the next lost person who thinks dumpster diving is the best way to gather information about this place.