Away in a Manger

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The front window of Bob’s Budget Time Tours looked like an abandoned movie theater. Faded posters of bygone eras covered the inside of the glass, and dead flies peppered the sill below them. The only evidence of recent decoration was a bright red Christmas ornament hanging from the bottom of a hand-lettered sign taped to the glass at eye level. Ordinarily Duncan wouldn’t even have slowed down as he and his wife, Cynthia, walked past, but the sign caught his attention:

“Limited space,” Duncan said aloud. “I should certainly think so.”

Cynthia laughed. “It’s some sort of scam. Sure, look, it doesn’t say Christ’s nativity. They’re probably selling chances for people to witness their own births.”

Duncan said, “Fifty thousand is awfully steep for that.”

“True,” Cynthia admitted. Time visits to events of only personal significance were usually pretty cheap. “Still,” she said, “it can’t be the real thing.”

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