Aaron had a late night appointment with Julius Caesar. The time machine waited for him in the small garage next to Aunt Wilhelmina’s Deusenberg, Rolls Royce, and Ford Taurus station wagon. He looked at the grandfather clock in the foyer, ticking away the minutes.
“Drink up your consommé, Aaron,” his aunt scolded him, “otherwise Jeeves will not serve the salad course. You don’t want to be here all night, after all.”
“Yes, Auntie.” Aaron hated these formal meals. Aunt Wilhelmina always insisted they dress properly for dinner. So what if they lived in the hills south of San Francisco and had a fabulous view of the cliffs and ocean beyond? She behaved as if they owned an English country estate. But he forced the liquid down without complaining. The quicker dinner ended, the sooner he could ramp up the time machine for his trek back to the Roman Empire.
Aaron had an idea – he’d take his copy of Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar” with him along for the ride. Perhaps the real Caesar would get a charge out of Shakespeare’s tragedy. Of course, he might be put off by the assassination part of it, but hopefully he’d get the whole thing about tragic flaws and all.
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