Every day, I find myself walking this city street and admiring the same sights, my favorite being the dual Gothic towers of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The familiar smell of funnel cake from the street vendors permeates the air, but hearing the incredible sound of Handel Organ Concerto No. 5 in F Op 4 IV Presto always makes my day. My profession as a civil engineer is one that I love wholeheartedly. Still, like other skilled positions, it is mentally exhausting. Enough that a break for a fresh breath of air is not just a luxury but rather a necessity. At least, that’s what my professor back at Drexel Institute used to tell his students. Seeing the old church takes me back to my childhood back in Philadelphia. My mother used to force us to attend church each Saturday afternoon for mass, and I always hated it. Still, I enjoy coming here for services with my wife, Belinda, and our little one. The streetcars in this city are ubiquitous, going to and from here to many of its suburbs. We have a two-story home in the borough of Mt. Oliver. My position at the Tiger Tail Company, a local government contractor, gave me a house. Our company’s owner, John Livingston, makes enough to afford one of these new devices they call automobiles. One day, he told me I’d have enough to buy one, though I winced at owning such a vile gadget with all the racket they make. With all the racket they make, the foul aroma following them everywhere, and the soot they cough up onto the citizens of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I can’t see them roaming or polluting our streets one hundred years from now. Unless, of course, something changes. Maybe someone could make them more affordable to the commoner and improve their emissions. Even if I could afford one, I would not need one for them. We have the streetcars, after all. I’d instead invest my money in something more practical, like installing electricity in our house. Nonetheless, I’m afraid the Campbells are still a few years away from that.

Right before I got on a streetcar, one that would take me to Smithfield, a chaotic scene unfolded when a man who looked somewhat familiar started fighting with officers. I’d seen him being cuffed and led into a paddy wagon, but I heard shouting after I got on the streetcar. When I looked inside the wagon, the man was gone. At the time, I thought nothing of the incident but a mere haunting or trick of light, but later, my interpretation would change.

I left the streetcar on Smithfield Street soon after and headed to our office on Wood Street, where my office is on the fifth floor. It gives me a decent view of the Monongahela River and the ridge of Mt. Washington, perhaps in the afternoon when the smog isn’t blocking my view.

While crossing Smithfield, I looked both ways, as I always do, to make sure no automobiles or carriages were coming, and I recalled the coast being clear. The action was performed subconsciously, so I was in a mental daze and daydreaming while in the middle of the intersection when suddenly a horn blared, causing me to hold my ears. When I turned to look in the direction it’d come from; my eyes widened with horror at the sight of an automobile coming right at me at a rate of speed I’d never seen before. This was a much bigger automobile than I’d seen before, with a fancy coat of glossy silver paint and a much different design than I’d ever seen. But there was no time to admire its attributes, as I had to jump out of the way to avoid being stuck and killed. I stood up abruptly and dusted myself off. When I looked up, I realized the driver had stopped. The bald man, adorned with jewelry, looked infuriated. He cursed at me with words I dare not repeat for fear of offending my Lord thy God.

My only response was, ‘My good sir, you were driving like a madman. Slow down!’

The man cursed me again, but I refused to respond to such lowlife trash. I only shook my head and walked onto the sidewalk.

I stopped on Fifth Avenue at the sight of this strange version of the city I was familiar with. Like the automobile that had almost run me down, there were more like it. Some were smaller, yet some were much bigger. Some of these were parked along a road in what appeared to be asphalt. But also, other automobiles were coasting down these streets at a similar rate of speed that the lowlife who’d almost hit me was traveling at. Also, at the other end of Fifth Avenue were tall buildings with lots of steel and glass. There were more of these on Penn Avenue and Grant Street. At the top of some of these buildings were groups of letters I didn’t know the meaning of. Nevertheless, I quickly realized these may have pointed to the names of the companies that owned these giant structures.

Also gone was the familiar smog; instead, above me was a crystal-clear blue sky, with the sun rays bounding in many directions. The people walking in this city dressed much differently than I was used to seeing. Some appeared to be locals, wearing what we call jumpsuits. But the people cut ours in half and wore the top and bottoms separately. Then, others were professionally dressed. Businesspeople walk these streets during their break, just as I had had many times. The typical shirt had a collar, and their dress pants had khaki colors instead of black or grey.

I had to know where I’d been taken, but I needed to figure out where I could find an answer. I realized I saw a few newspapers inside a dispenser—a newsstand. These, nonetheless, were neglected. I pulled on the door to this dispenser, but it was locked. I then noticed that the cost of these was a whole dollar. There was also a slot for patrons to enter coins. I did indeed have paper cash and coins, but even considering paying such a ridiculous amount for a simple newspaper seemed absurd. Imagine the greed behind this price fix. I didn’t even consider purchasing the thing; I quickly realized there’d be no need. This dispenser had a clear window that allowed me to see the date in the newspaper, and when I read the date, I could hardly believe it. The date certainly matched up. In this case, it was November 5. But the year this newspaper had sent a chill through me. This one was the year 2010. The headline, “Al-Qaeda Arabian Peninsula claim responsibility for October 29, 2010, Cargo Plane Bomb plot,” I could assume the name Al-Qaeda may have pointed to a terrorist group, but the plane part. What exactly was a plane? I had no way of knowing or finding out, and had I asked one of these city dwellers what it was, they’d think I was mad.

The people walking these streets exhibited behavior no one from 1900 would enjoy. None of these people greeted each other as they passed by. They seemed preoccupied with staring at the thin rectangular box they held in their hand. Most of these people were a bit heavier than I was used to seeing, but whether that’s a good or a bad thing is beyond me. It was better than seeing them starving, that’s for sure.

That reminded me. I was parched from the walk I’d just taken, a bit hungry, and wishing to find food. Behind me, I noticed a store and decided to go inside. On my way in, a young man had already opened the door before I could, so I grabbed the door for him, and smiling, I wished him a good day. He thanked me but started at me and squinted as if he’d seen a ghost. I was too thirsty and didn’t think much of it. This store was like the shops we had in our century, but this one had refrigerators with food and drink. I picked out a bottle of Coca-Cola since that was the only product I’d recognized out of this bunch. I opened it and took a few sips before going to the counter to pay for it. The clerk attendant here had many tattoos along his arms and neck and wore clothes I could only describe as hideous. When I set the bottle on the counter, the young man took one look at me and laughed.

‘Hey man, Halloween was last week.’ He continued to chuckle, and I could think of no other way to respond to such a rude comment than to smile. The total was $2.14 for just one bottle. Like the newspaper, this was a sturdy price for such a thing, but now I was stuck; I had to buy this now that I had taken a sip. I reached into my wallet and put down three dollars. When the kid picked them up and stared at them suspiciously, my pulse began to race.

The man set the bills back down and pushed them back to me. ‘Try real money, man. Not this play stuff. If you have just two bucks, I’ll call it a deal. Then you leave and never come back.’

‘Pardon me, I said. No, this is legal; look here.’ I pointed out the serial numbers and the note on top with the Silver Certificate and the One Silver Dollar imprinting. ‘You see, it’s backed by gold.’

He put one of the small rectangular boxes to his ear and held up his finger. ‘Backed by gold? It hasn’t been like that since 1933. FDR suspended it.’

‘Who,’ I said.

He gave me a quirky look as if there was something wrong. Then he shook his head. ‘Let me call my manager. I’ll be right back.’ I waited a few minutes while he spoke in the back, away from my ears. When he returned, he put the money in his drawer and gave me a smirk I could only read one way. Then he laughed, seemingly as if he’d got the better of me, ‘Hey, it’s your loss. Thanks for shopping here, Priest.’

His words astounded me, but he may have been referring to the character in a play I hadn’t seen, so I let it go. Before I left, I asked him what he had to his ear earlier, and he told me it was an iPhone. When I asked what that was, he used the word smartphone to describe the device. Amazingly, a person could hold a portable telephone everywhere and use it almost anywhere if preferred. I left satisfied, but as soon as I left, it dawned on me that I had nowhere to go. Paradoxically, there were so many things I wanted to see in this new world that I wouldn’t know where to start.

My decision was a quick one. My next destination would be one of these giant buildings. One appeared to be a glass castle. I went inside. The lobby of this place seemed straight out of one of HG Wells’ novels. There was so much machinery at work. To the side was a glowing screen with a list. I recognized a few of these, one of which was the Heinz Company. It made enough sense for a good company to still be in business. People still require ketchup for their pork. Maybe they still eat burgers and fries, but who knows?

The other list was my very own, The Tiger Tail Company, residing on the 38th floor. I had to see it. I approached the elevators but was met with a control panel I needed to familiarize myself with. A man with a badge hollered at me for what he called ‘not scanning my badge.’ I apologized but couldn’t be sure he accepted it as he shook his head and walked away. Something about this man surprised me even further. He was black. Of course, I thought. In the future, all races and ethnic backgrounds could hold positions of authority. You’d never find something like that in 1900. As far as the elevator went, it was dumb luck. A gentleman had just gotten on one of them and held the door for me. I thanked him, and we were on our way up.

I hadn’t noticed at first, but this man seemed familiar to me, and I quickly recognized him as the same man who’d been struggling with the police earlier. Now, I could see that he appeared disheveled but had made a poor attempt to cover it up.

Since I’d seen him in my own time, I listened closely to his conversation on his portable phone. ‘I’m back at the office now,’ he said. ‘This was a close call; you must get your act together.’ There was a pause while the other party spoke, and then he continued. ‘What do you mean you did two retrievals? I’ve been back for fifteen minutes. I told you guys to call me after each retrieval. Right away. We can’t afford any screw-ups.’ A pause. ‘I’ll talk to you guys later; gotta go.’

When we got to the 38th floor, we both got out. There was a door I realized would be locked, but the gentleman held it open for me. He’d only turned halfway, but it was enough for me. The man looked like my counterpart. He hadn’t stopped, and it seemed he was just being rude, not entertaining my presence. I was glad he didn’t, as I now had access to a skyscraper and would see the whole city.

Behind the secretary’s desk, I could hardly believe the name I saw. Tiger Tail would still exist in the 21st century, but the logo had changed drastically. This one had the name on an orange and white striped background with black lettering in front of it and a tail protruding below it.

Next, I decided to check out the sight from this high. I gazed out of one of the many glass windows of this skyscraper. I’d overheard someone refer to these buildings as that somewhere along the way. I was astounded to see all the various colors of the trees sitting along Mount Washington. All the people I saw below appeared as ants, and the automobiles traveling across the bridges seemed like toys. From this view, the scale of the landscape made it all look like a miniature train set of some sort was ahead of me. I could have sat there all day but decided to move on before someone got suspicious of me. When I turned around from where I stood, something caught my attention. The corner office was labeled Brad Campbell. The man sitting at a desk inside with a telephone pressed against his ear, speaking as if annoyed, was the same man I’d ridden the elevator with. Still, he looked like he could be the 21st-century version of myself, minus my curly mustache or combed-over dark hair, where he was combed straight.

Then he noticed my stare, and he, in turn, froze in place with a stunned, widened look in his eyes. When he put his hand over his mouth, stood up, and started to leave his office as if to say something to me, I panicked and charged back to the elevators. As the guard downstairs had put it, there was no need for a security badge this time. When I waved my hand over the control panel, a button appeared for Lobby, and I pressed it. Then, I saw my descendant making his way to the elevator room while I waited for the lift to arrive. He was at the glass doors opening them when the elevator suddenly arrived, allowing me to escape quickly.

When I got downstairs, the black guard from before was waiting beyond the gateless gates (I call them that since they contained no physical obstruction and relied solely on an alarm sounding if passed without scanning a badge in front of them). On the other side, an older badged guard stood, seemingly waiting for me. Wishing to avoid a confrontation in which someone would get hurt, I put my hands up in surrender and made my way towards the same black gentleman.

He folded his arms, a sign I took for defense or mild hostility. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here,’ he said. ‘We call this trespassing. We’ll keep you somewhere until the police come.’

I turned around and noticed the older guard approaching me, but neither of them had touched me. When I was close enough, I had a moment to act. I’d already considered pushing the man back but couldn’t bring myself to do such a thing. After all, these men were just doing their job; they didn’t deserve violence. When the black guard reached for my arm, I ran to the turnstile. There had been a door beside it, but apparently, access was closed off, something that went in my favor. I’d almost slipped for some reason but had caught myself before falling. Once outside, I saw a glimpse through the window of both men running after me. Beside the other side of the gateless gates, a woman had a mop and bucket and had just finished mopping the floor. I realized that’s why I’d almost fallen earlier. When the two guards ran across the same floor, both slipped as I had but fell on their backs. Both of them quickly sat up and appeared to be in mild pain. I had to keep myself from laughing as they both swore in agitation. But others had already attended them, which was my chance to escape.