It’s forty years later and nothing has changed. Everyone is the same. They are interested in the same things, the same amount, no more and no less. I continue to write with little to no recognition, no compensation. I am paid only with my name, printed out on a piece of paper, which has not changed either. Gabe still lives in his parents backyard. They are old but they have not changed either. The house is the same, painted red and white with the same cars in the driveway. The tree hasn’t grown. The shrubs are the same size. The leaves have not blown away. No one has died. The gazebo is still there, it still has a painting on the ceiling. The fence is still up, it has not worn down and the wood has not split. The cat still roams around and the fruit from the neighbor's grapefruit tree still hangs over the fence. Every crease in the dirt from visitors is perfectly intact. Everyone is in the same patterns, habits, rituals they've never given up. They never stopped doing the things that made them feel bad and good.
The only thing that did change was inside my stomach. In 2020 I ate a cherry pit in the backyard at Punto Lairs inc and in 2060 I am old but still the same and there is a tree inside me. I will not have had children because the cherry tree takes up too much room. No one can see it, not even me but I think it’s probably beautiful, you know, those pink blossoms everyone goes crazy for. What if things could grow inside us besides just other people?