Could time have somehow stopped in here even as it had gone on outside? But it hadn’t stopped in here. There were new things – a matte black radio and record player, from the looks of it, and an entire carousel of what were evidently miniature records, smaller than 45s, and holding entire symphonies. And, on what had been my desk, there was some strange sort of television set all tricked out with a typewriter keyboard. There was a test pattern playing on the screen, winged toasters flying hither and yon to no discernible purpose.

I looked closer and tapped one of the typewriter keys to see what would happen. Incredibly, the popup toasters popped away, wings and all, and the screen brightened, with different rectangles of print and pictures appearing here and there on it. It couldn’t be an ordinary television set. It was something else, and I had evidently done something to it, and I hoped it wasn’t disastrous.

“Who’s there? Did someone come in?”

I looked up. A tall blond woman, quite beautiful and entirely elegant, had emerged from within the apartment. My doppelganger’s paramour? The son of a bitch had good taste, I had to give him that. Long golden hair, high cheekbones, a full-lipped mouth, a pointed but not severe chin. Full breasts, a trim waist, long legs. I wasn’t sure what she was doing here, but I was perfectly willing for her to keep on doing it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I touched a key, and something happened to your toasters.”

“My toasters? Oh, the screen saver. That’s nothing.” She’d been looking at the screen, and now she looked at me. “My God,” she said. “It’s you. Evan, it’s really you!”

“It’s really me,” I agreed, mystified. But who the hell was she? She hadn’t been here when I left. She was the sort of thing I’d remember.