The owner didn't look back.
She pushed open the kitchen door and went in.
Ian lowered his head and kept eating breakfast. The fried egg had gone cold, and so had the bacon. He ate slowly, bite by bite, until everything on the plate was gone.
The sky outside had fully brightened. The streetlights had gone out, and more people were on the street now—some hurrying for the bus, some walking dogs, some riding bikes. A little girl in a school uniform ran past the window, her schoolbag bouncing on her back. Everything had returned to normal, as if nothing had happened yesterday.
Ian stood and went to the counter to pay. The owner took the money and gave him his change. "You're leaving too?"
"Yeah."
"Where to?"
"Somewhere far away."
The owner looked at him for a few seconds.
"You're from another era too?"
Ian slipped the change into his pocket.
"More or less."
He pushed the door open and walked out. The bell on the door rang, jingling clearly. The morning sunlight spilled over his face, warm.
The crowd flowed along the street. No one noticed him.
Ian walked along the street for several blocks, then stopped in front of a hotel. It wasn't large, with gray outer walls and a blue awning.
The brass plaque by the entrance was engraved with the words "Stardust Hotel."
"A room."
Ian walked in and booked a room. The woman at the front desk glanced at him, but didn't ask any questions. The elevator was very old, and when the doors closed, it creaked and groaned.
The room was on the fifth floor. It wasn't large: one bed, one desk, one wardrobe, and a window facing the street. The curtains had a small floral pattern, bleached pale by the sunlight.
The