Exasperated, the old don sat down hard in an empty swivel chair, sending himself sliding away while his face kept up its perfect, wrinkled composure under that wild head of hair.
“I know,” I said. “Except, I wouldn’t say it that way.”
“What?” he barked as the gradual rotation of the chair finally turned his unmoving, spectacled face away from me.
“Instead of saying…well, I mean that the ship is there, semiotics or not, and I don’t doubt the chariots either. I might not have seen chariots if I went back in time. I’d probably see what I see now.”
Tale Told 