Jay Gatsby time travels to the future and ends up in my living room. I am using a television. He does not seem to know what it is. Gatsby is obviously distressed and confused. He is visibly struggling. He does not know what to say. He tries to bond with me.
“Old sport?” he ventures. “No,” I say. I turn to face him and whip off my sunglasses dramatically. I have been playing Wii tennis the entire time.
I have broken him.