Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Look. A lot…a lot has happened in the last few weeks. And I’m…well, I think I’ve found an okay place to stay safe for a few days, catch my breath, figure out what my next move is. A house that’s got some clothes that look like they might fit me, some canned goods, woods around it that should be good for setting up rabbit traps. Plus the gas stove still works, so I’m…well, I’m really cooking with gas. (a weak laugh) Sorry, I’m…I’m fucking tired. Setting Harry and Junior to the side for the moment—not like I ever really can do that, they’re on my mind constantly, a merry-go-round of thoughts and fears that never stops—but. Setting them to the side for a moment.  I’ve been putting my thoughts in a row. Organizing the disparate threads of morse code messages and evidence and Asimov books and… I am somewhere else. We are. We are in a time of our own, separate from the world we knew. I killed Billings and we…branched off. I took Harry with me because she was there, Junior because it was his father I killed, and Leann because…the random rippling of chance.  And if there was one ripple big enough to affect Leann, then that means there must be other people out there. I’m sure of it. But maybe they have no way of reaching me—maybe they’re not hearing me at all, even though it seems like my transmission radius is a lot bigger than it should be—and that’s a mystery I don’t feel particularly inclined to solve at the moment, bigger fish and all—maybe they’re just all spread out so much that the odds of us running into each other are vanishingly small.  But there are others. I know that. And that’s enough for now.  So. The photos. I’ve been looking at the Denver ones again and I had a thought…the weird watch, the slightly strange clothes…what if that’s— What if it’s 1975, but just…over there. What if that’s where the sounds come from too? A collision point of timelines, some overlap that bleeds through in sound and in polaroids, for some reason. And the reason that Junior didn’t show up in the photo I took is because he wasn’t standing there in normal 1975. Because he’s here. But the people in Denver were there, just…unreachable. The camera is a little window into the real world.  I don’t know, it’s just a theory. But it’s got me wondering—why me? Why this choice? If time and space split every time someone accidentally killed someone— Well. Maybe that is what’s happening. Everyone in their own little pocket of punishment after making a choice. But we make thousands—tens of thousands—of choices every single day. What makes one choice more potent than another? Is there some preordained “correct” order of things we’re supposed to be following, just like Eternity? That’s really the ultimate question isn’t it—Birdie and Fox and what they both seem to know. The way they seem to be able to communicate with me no matter where I am. The way they only communicate through morse code. Are they…they’re not god, I refuse to believe that, but are they Eternity somehow? Are they…monitoring me, monitoring everything, to make sure things are just right? But if that’s the case, then what are we still doing here. Why hasn’t Andrew Harlan come and repaired what I did to put everything back in its place.  It really does all sound like science fiction. Maybe it’s all true, maybe I’m right on the money, or maybe none of it is. And I’m not sure who I would believe if anyone told me which it was.  [click, static]