Bikini Planet

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June 26, 1968 was a Wednesday in Las Vegas.

All over the world it was Wednesday. Except across Australia and half of Asia, where it was already Thursday.

Wayne Norton sat behind the wheel of a car parked outside a donut shop at the southern end of Las Vegas Boulevard. He had the window wound down because it was fractionally cooler on the sidewalk than in the vehicle. Only a few years ago this part of the Strip had all been desert. Now there were buildings everywhere, and at least half of them seemed to be hotels or casinos. Or both.

Norton looked in the rearview mirror again. After pulling in, he’d angled the mirror so he could see himself. This only confirmed what he already suspected: His new sunglasses weren’t right? He didn’t look cool enough.

When he straightened the mirror he saw that the stretch limo was still there, still in a no-waiting zone. Norton’s car was in the same prohibited zone, but that was different.

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