[Mike's posture hunches a little, like he's leaning in to give important exposition during a campaign.]

I'm from before the dance. The last thing I remember was the tunnels.

[His ankle snagging, the hard floor meeting his chin, the sounds of the others a few yards ahead, and then- nothing. A meadow. A dream. He spent the first month, until Steve showed up, thinking he'd died. Just like Bob.]

Except for me, the tunnels were months ago. Time's totally out of sync here.