I've always had a feeling for time. Never space; just time.
It's like me and time run together, in parallel lines. I look across an emptiness and there's time, level with me; what's behind is behind, what's in front, who knows? Time knows, I don't. What's the point of knowing anything?
Time shrugs, like it agrees with me.
I don't really know what I'm trying to say. It's just that time had walked with all three of us that day, watched us, like shadows watch us.
It knew what was going to happen.
And it let us blame the heat.