May 22, 1988
So I decided to stop pussyfooting around and catch P.F. Jones once and for all.
To that end, I got two cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a big net.
Now, you may think there's more to catching an elusive billionaire who's reverse-engineering his own world domination than just beer and a net-
but it was a really big net.
I went back to a point in history I knew that vain bastard couldn't resist showing up to- the Award Ceremony for the 1987 Pulitzers.
It was where he got the first of two Pulitzer Prizes he would receive during his career as a journalist.
The thing is, he didn't write these award-winning stories.
I discovered in an alternate timelime that he plagerized them from the original reporter.
The stories he was receiving this one for were written by New York Times' reporter Michael Parks on Aparthied.
I have yet to go through an alternate timeline that reveals from whom he stole the other Pulitzer.
If Jones showed up, the 21st-century Jones, it would prove my suspicions:
That he is using equipment at Integrated Technologies to travel through time and change history.
I showed up early and cloaked Time Ship 1 in Central Park, not far from the theater.
I took the net and PBR and hid in the rafters while roadies and caterers prepared for the ceremony below.
I don't know if it was how hot it was up there in the rafters, or the 37 cans of PBR I drank, but I passed out long before anyone showed up.
When I woke up, the ceremony was going on.
I could hear a presenter's voice booming over the PA and the clinking of flatware on china but it was too dark to see much of anything.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw two little reflections of light about thirty feet in front of me, in the rafters directly above the stage.
They were black sunglasses, on a bald, black man in a black suit- and he was smirking at me.
P.F. Jones was smirking at me.
I jumped up and immediately fell down. part 2>