Bob

A wormhole enabled me to drive a hybrid car with Madame Curie riding shotgun, whispering along under stored energy. She asked, “What element would you be be on the periodic table?” I thought of transition metals but replied “Mercury”. She shared my melancholy over the march of time. She'd have chosen Uranium, but I failed to ask. Infinite wormholes all but guarantee I'll never again have the pleasure of her company.