So Melvin came to me with something that made me question everything we thought we knew about the missing time.

He said, “The customers who come in during the gaps aren’t the same people who leave.”

I asked him what he meant, and he said, “I’ve been reviewing footage from before and after the time jumps. And I’ve been paying attention to the customers. Their faces. Their clothes. Their mannerisms. And they’re different. Subtly different. But different.”

I told him he was being paranoid, but Melvin said, “No. I have proof. Watch this.”

He pulled up footage from last Thursday. The timestamp showed 1:47pm. A customer walked in. Blue shirt. Jeans. Beard. He sat down in my chair. I started cutting his hair. Then the screen flickered. Time jump. When it came back, the timestamp showed 3:22pm. The customer was still in my chair. I was finishing the haircut. But something was different.

Melvin paused the footage. He zoomed in on the customer’s face. He said, “Look at his beard. Before the time jump, it was trimmed close. After the time jump, it’s longer. Not by much. But it’s longer. And look at his shirt. Before, it had a small stain on the collar. After, the stain is gone.”

I looked closer. He was right. The beard was longer. The stain was gone. But it was the same customer. Same face. Same build. Same posture.

Melvin said, “It’s not the same person. It’s a version of that person. A slightly different version. Like during the missing time, the original customer left and a different version of him took his place. And nobody noticed.”

Now I’m obsessed with this. I’m watching customers more carefully. I’m looking for inconsistencies. And I’m finding them. Everywhere.

Yesterday, a customer came in at 2:10pm. Red jacket. Clean-shaven. He sat down. Sam started cutting his hair. Then time jumped. When I looked again, it was 3:41pm. The customer was still there. Still in Sam’s chair. Still getting his hair cut. But the red jacket was now burgundy. And he had stubble. Not much. But it was there.

I asked the customer if he’d changed his jacket, and he looked confused. He said, “No. I’ve been wearing this the whole time.” But I saw the footage. The jacket was red. Now it’s burgundy.

Melvin said, “They don’t remember. The versions that come out after the time jump don’t remember being different. They think they’ve been here the whole time. They think nothing changed. But something did change. They changed.”

I asked Melvin where the original customers go, and he said, “I don’t know. Maybe they’re still in the missing time. Maybe they’re trapped there. Or maybe they’re replaced. Swapped out. And the versions we get back are close enough that nobody questions it.”

Now I’m terrified because I don’t know if the customers leaving my shop are the same ones who came in. I don’t know if I’m cutting the hair of the same person or a slightly different version of that person. And I don’t know what happens to the originals.

Melvin’s been documenting every discrepancy. Beard length. Clothing color. Scars. Tattoos. Mannerisms. Speech patterns. He’s building a database of differences. And the list is growing.

One customer came in with a wedding ring. After the time jump, the ring was gone. I asked him about it, and he said, “I’m not married.” But I saw the ring. It was there. On his left hand. Gold band. And then it wasn’t.

Another customer came in with a scar on his neck. After the time jump, the scar was on the other side of his neck. I asked him about it, and he said, “It’s always been on this side.” But it wasn’t. I saw it. It moved.

Melvin said, “I think during the missing time, we’re existing in a different version of reality. A parallel version. And when time catches up, we slip back into our reality. But the people don’t always slip back correctly. Sometimes they come from the other version. And sometimes they stay there.”

I asked him if that meant we were losing customers to another reality, and he said, “Maybe. Or maybe we’re gaining customers from another reality. I don’t know which is worse.”

Now I’m paying attention to everything. I’m taking mental notes of every customer who walks in. What they’re wearing. What they look like. How they talk. And I’m comparing them to the versions that leave. And more often than not, something’s different.

One customer came in yesterday. He said his name was Mike. I’ve cut Mike’s hair a dozen times. I know Mike. But this Mike was different. His voice was slightly higher. His laugh was slightly different. His mannerisms were off. I asked him how his wife was doing, and he said, “I don’t have a wife.” But Mike has a wife. I’ve met her. She’s come to the shop.

I told Melvin, and he said, “That’s not your Mike. That’s a different Mike. From a different version. And your Mike is probably still in the missing time. Or he’s in another version of this shop, wondering why you’re acting strange.”

Now I’m terrified to interact with customers. Because I don’t know if they’re the real versions or the replacement versions. I don’t know if I’m supposed to know them or if I’m supposed to pretend I don’t.

Melvin asked me, “Do you think we’re the real versions? Or are we the replacements?”

I said, “I don’t know.”

He said, “Me neither. But I think we need to start considering the possibility that we’re not in our original reality anymore. That we slipped into a different version during one of the time jumps. And we just haven’t noticed yet.”

I asked him how we’d know, and he said, “We wouldn’t. Not unless something major was different. And even then, we might just think we remembered it wrong.”

Now I’m questioning everything. Every memory. Every interaction. Every customer. Because if Melvin’s right, I don’t know what’s real anymore. I don’t know if the people I’m talking to are the people I think they are. And I don’t know if I’m the person I think I am.

Melvin said, “All we can do is keep documenting. Keep tracking. And hope that eventually, we figure out what’s happening. Or hope that we slip back into the right reality before it’s too late.”

But I have a feeling it’s already too late. And we’ve been in the wrong reality for a long time.

Here’s What We’re Thinking

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Visit Venice Barbershop off US 41, next to the courthouse. We’re the only walk-in barbershop offering hot lather shaves. Walk-ins welcome Tuesday–Friday 9am–6pm, Saturday 10am–2pm. We might not be in the original timeline anymore. But the haircuts are still good.

Look dapper. Question everything. (We are.)