It's Gonna be a Long Winter.

Or, Henry Fords Secret Timewar pt 2

On bad nights the light pollution from New York across the river blots out the whole damn sky. It just hangs there like a false dawn.


A short beeping punched through the distant ambient din. Hot tobacco smoke glided down the cigarette, through the filter and into the bloodstream of a man sitting on a dew-gilded park bench. A man whose heavy, fatigued eyes and weary armani suit which had just begun to fray betrayed to the casual onlooker a man recently befriended by sleep deprivation. "My watch works," he mumbled to no one in particular "6:30, gota work." . A large family could survive for a year on the difference between what he was worth one shitty week ago. The sweet pipe dreams of deep slumber avoided him and let him hang out to dry in the cold pre dawn air of this barren and alien morning.

The money man's shellshocked stupor was interrupted by the rather large time rift tearing reality a new one roughly 400 feet away to his left. "How's psychiatric care in Canada?" He shouted to the goliath armor plated arachnoid mechanism crowned with two crackling, lightning-spitting tesla coils, a massive gyroscope, and an open cockpit housing a man with a finely waxed moustache, whose features were partly obscured by a large pair of goggles and whose head was wrapped in a leather cap.

"Huh. The new hybrid SUV." Money man offered to the river. "Buy American." The clanking electrical time walker strode swiftly down the banks of the river, expanding the rift and making way for larger, more shadowy shapes and figures formlessly shifting in the glittering scar. It struck the money man as quite a beautiful display. "The greatest things in life are free." The Ford logo situated on the front of the machine glittered in the surreal, apocalyptic light display. Nothing surprised the money man any more. "It's about damn time."