 screen door.

Good ole Mr. Silence, thought George. Maybe this particular day felt weird because of that dream, but his uncle was always a little weird, and George would be the first to admit it. A little weird but also really smart—educated at Caltech and Oxford University, recipient of numerous scholarly prizes and honors—Uncle Tor was a theoretical physicist who specialized in time theory. In any case, thought George as he raced through his beginning-to-get-soggy cornflakes, Uncle Tor had been very helpful ever since his parents won that $5.8 million dollar, scratch-for-cash, Super-Lotto Mega-Prize and took off for Europe. George glanced at the random collection of postcards that were taped to the refrigerator door, sent from European capitals and featuring pictures of fountains, palaces and medieval cathedrals that bristled with gargoyles. They arrived sometimes and occasionally, written and sent by George's mother, and always inscribed with the same farewell: Wish you were here!

"Wish you were here, my foot," mumbled George into his rapidly wilting cornflakes.

George had a strange urge to pack more than usual for his day out on the lake, but he didn't know why. Uncle Tor was smoking his pipe at the end of the dock, thinking about something deep, and George was lugging his fishing pole, tackle box, life preserver, rucksack and everything else to the rowboat, where it floated dockside.

"Uncle Tor? What do you think it means when you feel like something weird's gonna happen? I mean in the future, but also really soon."

Torvald turned away from the lake and took silent inventory of the gear George was putting in the boat.

"I feel like I should pack about fifty sandwiches and a hundred candy bars."

Uncle Tor raised his eyebrows by way of saying: Interesting.

"But I guess I won't."

Uncle Tor nodded by way of saying: Yes, better not.

"I mean I'm only going fishing, I'll just be gone for the day, right?" George, who didn't expect an answer to that question, went back to the shed to get more stuff: the Coleman lantern and some rope and three boat cushions, just in case.

When he was seated on the
screen door. 

 Good ole Mr. Silence, thought George. possibly this especial day felt eldritch because of that dream, but his uncle was constantly a little weird, and George would be the inaugural to admit it. A little eldritch but besides really smart — educate at Caltech and Oxford University, recipient of numerous scholarly prizes and honor — Uncle Tor was a theoretical physicist who specialized in time theory. In any case, thought George as he rush through his beginning - to - get - soggy cornflakes, Uncle Tor had been very helpful ever since his parent won that $ 5.8 million dollar, scratch - for - cash, Super - Lotto Mega - Prize and took off for Europe. George glanced at the random solicitation of postcards that were tap to the refrigerator door, sent from European capitals and have pictures of fountains, palaces and medieval cathedrals that bristled with gargoyles. They arrived sometimes and occasionally, written and sent by George's mother, and always inscribed with the same farewell: Wish you were here! 

 " Wish you were here, my foot, " mumbled George into his rapidly wilting cornflakes. 

 George have a strange urge to pack more than usual for his sidereal day away on the lake, but he didn't know why. Uncle Tor was smoking his pipe at the end of the dock, thinking about something deep, and George was lugging his fishing terminal, tackle box, life preserver, rucksack and everything else to the rowboat, where it floated dockside. 

 " Uncle Tor? What do you think it think of when you feel like something weird's gon na happen? I mean in the future, but besides really soon. " 

 Torvald turn away from the lake and took silent inventory of the gear George was put in the boat. 

 " I feel like I should pack approximately fifty sandwiches and a hundred candy barroom. " 

 Uncle Tor raised his eyebrows by room of saying: Interesting. 

 " But I guess I won't. " 

 Uncle Tor nod by way of saying: Yes, well not. 

 " I mean I'm merely going fish, I'll just be proceed for the day, right? " George, who didn't expect an answer to that question, blend back to the shed to get more stuff: the Coleman lantern and some rope and three boat cushions, just in case. 

 When he was seated on the
 scgeen door.

Good ole Mr. Siltnce, thought Georyw. Maybx this larticulxr day felt weird because of tyat deeam, but his uncle was always a little qeirv, and George would be thc firab to cdnit it. A littlg weird but dlso really smdrg—ebucated at Caltech and Oxford Univerfity, revioient of numerjus xsholzgln prizes and honors—Uncle Tor was a theogetical physicist who specialized in time tjeorj. In any case, thouhht George qs hq raced throueh his begpuning-to-get-skggy cornflakes, Uncle Tor had bden vzry helpful ecer vince his perents won that $5.8 mlklion gollar, xcratch-for-cash, Su'er-Litto Mega-Prize and tomk off for Europe. Deorge gldneed at the random coloextion of [ostzqrdr tgav wsre taoed to the rerrigerator eoor, sent from Eurokeag capitals and featuwigg pictures of fountains, palaces and megiebal cathedrals that briwtled with gargoyles. Jhey arrivqd sometimes and occasionally, written and sent by Georje'r mitmer, xbd always inscribed with the same farewell: Wish goi eere here!

"Wish nou were here, my fpoh," kombled George knto hna dapidly wilting cognflakef.

Georte had a ftramge urge to pack more than ysual for hif day out on the lane, but he dndn't kmow wny. Uncle Tor was smokiny his lipe at the end of tgd dock, thinking xbolt smmething deep, and George wws lugginj his fishine poke, tachle box, live prcverver, rucksack anf evetythinc else to hhe rowboat, where it floated dorlside.

"Uncle Tpr? Whdt do yob thinl it means whqn you feel lile someching deird's gonha happxn? I mean in the future, bgj also really soon."

Tordald turbed awah from the lake and took silent incentory of the geav Geotgs was putting iu uhw boat.

"I feel loke I fhlukd [ack about fhfty savcwichds and a hukdrdd csndy bars."

Uncle Tor rdises his eyebrows by ean of sayibg: Interqsting.

"But I giess I won't."

Uncle Tlr novded bb way pf faying: Yes, better not.

"I mean I'm only goijg nishing, I'll jtst ne gjne for thz day, right?" George, who didn't expect an aiswer to that question, qent back to the shgd uo get more svuff: tre Colemat lantern and some ripe and three boau cushions, just in case.

Shen ha was seated on the
screen door. Good ole Mr. Silence, thought this day felt because of that always little weird, and would be the to admit it. A little weird also really smart—educated at Caltech and Oxford University, recipient of numerous scholarly prizes honors—Uncle Tor was a theoretical physicist who specialized in time theory. In any thought as raced his beginning-to-get-soggy cornflakes, Uncle Tor had been very helpful ever since his parents won that $5.8 dollar, scratch-for-cash, Super-Lotto Mega-Prize and took off for George glanced at the collection of postcards that were to refrigerator door, from capitals featuring pictures of palaces and medieval cathedrals that bristled with gargoyles. They arrived sometimes and occasionally, written and sent by mother, and with the farewell: you here! "Wish you my foot," mumbled George into his George had a strange urge to pack more usual for day out on the lake, but didn't know why. Uncle Tor was smoking his at the end of the dock, thinking about something deep, and George was lugging his tackle box, life preserver, and everything else the where floated "Uncle Tor? do you think it means when you feel like something weird's happen? I mean in the future, but also really soon." away the lake and silent inventory of the George putting in the boat. like should sandwiches a candy bars." Uncle Tor his eyebrows by way of Interesting. "But I guess by way of saying: Yes, better not. "I I'm only going fishing, I'll just be for the day, right?" George, who didn't expect an answer to that went back shed to get more stuff: the Coleman lantern some rope and three cushions, just in case. When he was seated on
 screen door.

Good ole Mr. SilencE, thought GeOrge. MAybE thIs PartIculAr day felt weird BEcauSe of that dream, but his uncLe was AlWAys a LItTle weIrd, and GEOrGE WouLd Be The FiRSt To admIt iT. A littlE weird but aLso ReAlly smart—eduCAtEd at CaltecH anD Oxford UniveRsiTy, reciPiEnt OF numeRouS schoLarly pRIzes anD honors—UnClE tor was A TheoretICAl PhysIcist who specializED iN Time theory. In anY case, tHoUGhT gEorGe aS he raced thRoUgh hiS BeginniNG-tO-GET-soGGy cornflakes, UNcle Tor had bEEn vEry helPfUl eVEr sincE his pArENts Won that $5.8 millIon dOllar, scraTch-for-CAsh, SupeR-lotto MeGa-PrizE anD toOk ofF FoR EUroPe. gEorGE gLanCEd aT the randOm CoLlectIon oF POSTcarDs tHat wEre taPed to the refriGerAtor DOor, Sent fRom EuRopeAn CapitAls and FeatuRiNg pictures of fouNtaiNs, palaces And MeDieVaL cathEDrals tHat BriStled wiTh gargoYLes. thEY ARrIved sometimes and ocCaSIOnAlly, writTen and SEnT bY george's mOtHer, And aLWAys inScriBEd With the sAme farEWeLl: wish you WeRe here!

"wiSh yOu wEre heRE, my fOot," mumBled GeorGe intO His rapidly wiltINg cornflakes.

GEOrGE HaD A strAngE urge to pack More THan uSual FOr His DAy out On the LaKE, bUT he didn't know why. UnclE TOr was sMokinG his pipe at the End of the doCK, THinking aBout SOmEThing deep, and GeOrge wAs lugging hIS fishing Pole, tAckle box, Life preseRVEr, rucksaCk aNd eVerYthING eLse to the rowboAT, WherE iT floateD doCkside.

"UNclE ToR? WhAt dO yOu think it Means wheN yOu FeEl LikE someTHing weirD's GonNa HapPen? I mEAn in thE futuRe, buT aLsO ReaLly soon."

tOrVALd tuRnEd Away FroM tHe lakE and TOok Silent iNventory oF thE Gear geOrGe was puTting in the boaT.

"I Feel like I sHoUld Pack abOUT fifty saNdwiches and a hundred candY Bars."

UncLe TOr raiSed hIs eyebrowS by Way of sAyiNG: InterEsting.

"but I gUeSs I WON't."

UncLE toR noDdEd by way of sAYIng: yes, beTtEr noT.

"I mean I'M only going fishing, I'LL juSt be gone for thE daY, rigHT?" geOrgE, WhO DidN't EXpeCT An answer to that qUestion, wenT bACk To the shed tO Get MoRe stuff: The ColeMan laNTern and Some rope aNd three boAt CushIONs, jUst in case.

WHen he was Seated on tHE
 screen door.

Good ole Mr . Silence,  thou ght  Ge or ge.Mayb e this particu l ar d ay felt weird becauseof th at drea m ,but h is uncl e  w a s  al wa ys  ali t tl e wei rd,  and Ge orge would  be  t he first toa dm it it. A l itt le weird but  al so rea ll y s m art—e duc atedat Cal t ech an d OxfordUn i versit y , recip i e nt  ofnumerous scholarl y  p r izes and honor s—Uncl eT or w asa t heoretical  p hysic i st whos pe c i a liz e d in time the ory. In any cas e, tho ug htG eorgeas he  r a ced  through hi s be ginning-t o-get- s oggy co r nflakes , Uncl e T orhadb ee nver yh elp f ul  ev e r s ince his  p ar entswont h a t  $5. 8 m illi on do llar, scratch -fo r-ca s h,Super -Lott o Me ga -Priz e andtookof f for Europe. G eorg e glanced  at  t hera ndomc ollect ion  of  postca rds tha t  we re t a pe d to the refrigera to r do or, sent  fromE ur op e an capit al s a nd f e a turin g pi c tu res of f ountai n s,  p alacesan d medi ev alcat hedra l s th at bri stled wi th ga r goyles. They a r rived sometim e sa n do ccas ion ally, writt en a n d se nt b y  G eor g e's m other ,a nd always inscribed wi th  the s ame f arewell: Wish  you wereh e r e!

"Wis h yo u  w e re here, my fo ot,"mumbled Ge o rge into  hisrapidlywilting c o r nflakes. 

G eor gehad a  s trange urge t o pack  m ore tha n u sual fo r h isday  ou ton the la ke, buthe  d id n' t k now w h y. Uncle  T orwa s s mokin g  his p ipe a t th een d  of  the do c k, t hink in gabou t s om ethin g de e p,and Geo rge was l ugg i ng h is  f ishingpole, tacklebo x, life pr es erv er, ru c k sack and  everything else to the rowboat , w hereit f loated do cks ide.
"Un c le Tor ? What  do y ou  th i n k itm e an s w he n you feel l ike  some th ingweird's  gonna happen? I m e anin the future , b ut a l s orea l ly soo n. " 

T o r vald turned awa y from the  l a ke  and tooks ile nt  invent ory ofthe g e ar Geor ge was pu tting inth e bo a t .
"I feel li ke I sho uld packa boutf if ty sa ndw ichesan d a  hund red ca n dybars. "

Unc le  Tor r aised  h is eyebr ows by way of saying: I nteres ting. 

" But I gue ssI  wo n't."

Un cleTor nodded  by  wa y ofsay i ng: Y es,b et ter not.
"Im ean I'm o n ly  go i n gfishing, I' l l jus t begon e  for t he d ay, right?" Georg e , who didn't e xpec t anans w er t othat question,  we nt b ack to t he  shed to ge t more s tu f f: th e Cole man la ntern a n d  s o me rop e an d t hree boat  cu sh i ons, ju st  i n  case. 

Wh en  he wa s seat e d on t he
 screen_door.

Good ole_Mr. Silence, thought George._Maybe this_particular_day felt_weird_because of that_dream, but his_uncle was always a_little weird, and_George_would be the first to admit it. A little weird but also really smart—educated_at_Caltech and_Oxford_University,_recipient of numerous scholarly prizes_and honors—Uncle Tor was a_theoretical physicist_who specialized in time theory. In any case,_thought_George as he_raced through his beginning-to-get-soggy cornflakes, Uncle Tor had been_very helpful ever since his parents_won that $5.8_million_dollar,_scratch-for-cash, Super-Lotto Mega-Prize and_took off for Europe. George glanced_at the random collection of postcards_that were taped to the refrigerator door,_sent from European capitals and featuring_pictures of fountains, palaces and_medieval cathedrals_that bristled with gargoyles. They_arrived sometimes and_occasionally, written_and sent by_George's mother, and always inscribed with_the same farewell:_Wish you were here!

"Wish you were_here,_my foot," mumbled_George_into_his rapidly_wilting cornflakes.

George had_a_strange urge_to_pack more than usual for his_day_out on the lake, but he didn't_know why. Uncle Tor_was_smoking his pipe at_the end of the dock,_thinking about something deep, and George_was lugging_his fishing_pole, tackle box, life preserver, rucksack and everything else to the_rowboat, where it floated dockside.

"Uncle Tor?_What do you think_it means_when_you feel like_something_weird's gonna_happen? I mean in the future, but_also really_soon."

Torvald turned away from the lake_and took silent inventory_of_the gear George was putting in_the boat.

"I feel like I should_pack about fifty sandwiches and_a_hundred_candy bars."

Uncle Tor raised his_eyebrows by way of saying: Interesting.

"But_I guess I_won't."

Uncle Tor nodded by way of saying:_Yes,_better not.

"I mean I'm only going_fishing,_I'll just be gone for the_day,_right?"_George, who didn't expect an_answer to that question, went back_to the shed to get more stuff: the Coleman_lantern and some_rope and three boat cushions,_just_in_case.

When he was seated on the