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Something out of whack. These recurring moments of deja-vu, repetitions, duplications. Moments differing only in content seemingly missing, defused, blurry, blurrier, dim, dimmer. Things thought once there - a chair, a table, a door, a person - no longer there. Ever there? And what about those flashes of a future somehow known? Past, present, and future confused, intermingled - replayed reruns.
How can Gamil Forner proposition a complete stranger on a city street, only to discover she's his wife? How can he not know his job one minute, know it the next? Why are the only parts of his past recalled those parts he questions as to why they're missing? Why some blanks filled, others not?
Zinger, the alien, the mutant-mal, knows the answers. Doesn't like them. Can do nothing about the questions or the answers. Resents the puppet role he has to play. Helpless - as is everyone else? - to do otherwise.
Synopsis provided by the author.
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