Having a backstage pass to a band that really sucks is nothing to brag about. That’s what Oliv thought when she surfaced from unconsciousness. When she opened her eyes, she found she was in a room, comfortably furnished with retro-looking 50s-style furniture – a teal, formica table in one corner, a television cabinet that looked like it might also have a turntable, a matching sofa and chair made of some kind of fuzzy, itchy material. She was sitting on the chair. There were two men and a woman on the couch across from her, watching her. Oliv felt woozy. She reached up and felt her head and found that it was wrapped in a bandage. The three people on the couch had a retro look themselves. Not 50s per se, but they had only advanced a couple decades, maybe to the 70s. All three stared at Oliv with blank, uncaring eyes. Oliv changed her mind about the furniture. It wasn’t 50s-style. It was just plain 50s. Maybe she had slipped back in time.
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