In case anyone's wondering, the big, nasty typhoon that has killed at least 48 people blew through here yesterday. We were sent home from work during the storm, but prior to the trains shutting down service. I arrived at home while the eye was near Osaka, so there was nearly no wind or rain for my walk home. This quickly changed after arriving at home, when the wind kicked up, the rain and lightining started, and the sky quickly darkened to black, an hour and a half before sunset. This has been a horrid year for typhoons hitting Japan, but at least I'm not on Shikoku or Kyushu...
“I came back for my own purposes,” said the Time Traveler, looking around my booklined study. “I chose you to talk to because it was . . . convenient. And I don’t want you to do a goddamned thing. There’s nothing you can do. But relax . . . we’re not going to be talking about personal things. Such as, say, the year, day, and hour of your death. I don’t even know that sort of trivial information, although I could look it up quickly enough. You can release that white-knuckled grip you have on the edge of your desk.” I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said. “The Century War,” said the Time Traveler. I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .” “I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he ...
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