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His head ached as if on fire; he picked himself up from the field and tried to get his bearings. Max was lost and he really didn't know what he was in for; that last shift really did something, and he felt off. As if he was looking through eyes of a body that wasn't his.

He straightened out his tie and dusted off the debris that clung to his dinner jacket. It was early summer and the sun was drifting off across the sky.

Not too far from where he landed he noticed a party invitation. He picked it up and read it and then glanced at his Rolex and shook his head. 

I'm late.