at least, it feels like there's going to be horror.
"Time travel Warning: Past Unsafe, Future Unstable. Passport void. You are alone."
There's a menacing drug-dealer named Blue who seems fixated on the MC, Linda. There's foreshadowing, and tension and warnings from other characters. Nothing's happened, yet; but we know it's going to.
here's a humorous part. (With a healthy dose of sleaze and creep.) -- Imagine you are a 24 year old woman with a three year old daughter in 1963. Then imagine yout are astrally projected into your daughter's 28 year old body while she is sleeping in 1998. You wake up, you are in a strange house, and you sneak out in order not to rouse anyone else.
in 1963, hitch-hiking was somewhat common, and it's your only option since you have no money, so you take your chances and stick out your thumb. This is what might happen:
“Need a ride?” The driver was in his mid thirties, anemic, with kinky red hair. A newspaper sports page covered his lap like a beach towel, an open can of Budweiser sat by his hip. She squeezed in on the passenger side, stepping on a carpet of cans, bags, and newspapers.
“Where you headed, little lady?”
“I’m trying to get across town to a place called Memory Lane.”
“Kinda late for hitching a ride, ain’t it?” The dashboard clock read: 11:43 P.M.
Her internal alarm went off a minute ago, when she first touched the door handle. . . The driver looked ghostly pale, as if he had spent the last decade chained up in the balcony of a porn theatre. She wondered if he had a nest of newspapers crunched in his crotch. “Man, I haven’t seen a chick thumbing a ride for...I dunno...gotta be twenty years.”
“I’m short on bus fare tonight.”
“So you need money, huh?” The car was cruising at 25.
“No, I need a ride.”
His right hand floated through the air, slow motion, and descended on her left knee. . . .
The sports page rose another half inch. He squeezed her knee, and slid his hand two inches up her thigh.
“Get your hand off my daughter’s leg— now!”
“Your daughter’s leg?”
“You heard me, you child molester.” She thought of little Cel and her Mother Goose book, and felt her blood boil. She grabbed his fingers and twisted. The driver shrieked and the car swerved into the opposite lane. “I want a ride, moron, not a massage.”
His voice sounded like steam hissing through a pipe. “You sloppy ho. You bitches are all alike.”
“Ho? Is that what you said?” . . . The car returned to the correct lane. “Ho? Is that shorthand for Ho Chi Minh?” she asked, her voice rising. She wondered if the Vietnam War was still grinding on. She wondered why men would refer to women as North Vietnamese. How stupid. The future made so little sense.
“Who’s Chee Min? Some celebrity ho?”
“Ho Chi Minh, a celebrity? What are you talking about?”
“Me? Bitch, listen to you. You a crazy ho.”
“Look at me, you idiot. Do I look Vietnamese to you?”
“You look stupid to me.” Now the sports page suggested a paper tent.
“I thought the Age of Aquarius was upon us. But 25 years later and nothing has changed. You assholes still don’t get it.”
“I thought by now we were supposed to be flying to work like George Jetson in bubble shaped saucers, with Rosie the Robot handling the housework. Instead, I’m trapped inside a shit- bucket, sitting next to Alley Oop the Caveman wrapped in a newspaper— who’s trying to put the moves on my daughter.” She faced the windshield and concluded, “The future is a massive freak- out.”
Linda knows how to take care of herself. To put your mind at ease, she gets where she's going and he gets what he deserves.
also, Linda believes (feels) that she is visiting her daughter's life because now Blue has returned to threaten Sally.