"I don't like it." My voice was deadpan, a sort of dry sarcasm that I've perfected over the years and am very proud of.

My client, Jordan Randolfs, just stared at me. "What do you mean, "you don't like it."? Who cares? I'm the client, I wanna go back and roast that little shit."

I sighed deeply, intentionally. Drawing it out for just a hair too long so he got the point. "Listen, Mr. Randolfs." I took my cigarette and stamped it out on the ashtray in front of me. A cigarette-free world for three hundred years, then once time travel becomes all the rage, so do "taboo" practices, and humanity decides to kill themselves slowly again. I guess that made me a cynic. Possibly a hypocrite. "Sure, you can go back in time to when you were fifteen years old - and I won't touch the issues surrounding a petty hangup you've had for over thirty years against someone who died five years ago - and tell yourself that once big, bad Billy Gelman calls you a pint-sized little mama's boy with a two-inch dick that you should say, let's see, how did you put it?" I shuffled the papers acting like I was trying to find his request. Having an eidetic memory makes people uncomfortable. So does shuffling papers while insulting someone - but that's the satisfactory kind of uncomfortable. "Ah, here it is, "at least my mom's not a whore, and my dick is actually five inches!" I mean, if you really wanna pay me to send you back to say that, then I'll take your money." I trailed off, knowing he'd take the bait.

He rolled his eyes. "But...?" Frustrated impatience leaked out of every facet of his being. I also detected a hint - just a hint - of disdain as well. I smiled, intensely pleased with myself.

"It's not going to have the effect you want, Mr. Randolfs." I finish. "Your high school bully is just going to retort with something else that you didn't think of. People rarely react the way we want them to react - or the way we see them react in the movies. I've been doing this a long time, I'm very good at it. You're going to need to take some time, here, and really think of a good insult."

Obviously he didn't listen. They never do. It doesn't help that I goad them on, I'm sure. I'm probably a horrible person.

Time travel is a funny business. Doesn't work like we all thought it would. A lot of debunked theorists were dumbfounded at how simple it all was, actually. Multiple futures don't exist as far as we know, which is a relief. No, what ends up happening is if you are directly involved with the paradox, it resolves itself inside of you. Both pasts exist in your memory, and only your memory, though "echoed memories" from indirect involvement (such as being the object of said time-traveler's goal) have been reported and theorized, there's no proof. Kind of ironic that time-travel essentially functions like a B-rate movie where little thought went into the theory.

Take the dear Mr. Randolfs. He was probably expecting to gain newfound courage and higher life-status. I bet he traced back every failure in his life to that one "pivotal" moment. "If only I'd stood up to my childhood bully!" Turns out it takes more than one insult to get a bully to back down, who knew? Oh, right. I knew.

When we returned, Jordan was worse for wear than he had ever been. Apparently that little moment of courage had brought on extra bullying as well as regular beatings. No major damage to his life, just a little less light in his eyes, I suppose.

I did warn him. I suppose I didn't have to gloat about it afterward, but that's never stopped me before. He just nodded and left, dissatisfied. He'd just spent a fortune and had only managed to move two steps back.

As he was leaving a woman entered. Yellow sundress, cute but not gorgeous, slim figure. Something about her, though...

Her reaction when she saw me was about the most adorable thing I had ever seen, her eyes got big, and the dimples on her cheeks seemed to glow as her mouth opened wide in shock and excitement. Her cute little button nose wrinkled a little. That had always been what I loved about her most.

Wait, what?

"Josh? Josh is that...oh my god, Josh!" She ran to me and almost tackled me in a giant bear hug. Apparently she noticed the look of utter confusion and lack of returned affection, because she pulled herself off of me slowly, deliberately. Her features wilted instantly, and I nearly pulled her in to comfort her on instinct.

"You...you don't remember me?" Her eyes had started glistening. "Of course. You wouldn't."

"Who are you?"

A single tear had escaped its prison and was making its escape down her cheeks. It paused at the dimple for a moment, then continued its trek onwards to freedom. "I'm...Lori. I am, err, I was your wife."