Bobby sighed. He reached out and plucked a glass off the tray of a cater waiter walking past them. He looked at the pale, barely mint-coloured liquid in the glass and tentatively took a sip.

Okay.

It tasted sweet. Tart. A little slimy.

He passed the glass on to another cater waiter.

"I know the voice of experience when I hear it," Bobby said after a beat. "Mostly because my friend Scott kind of sounded like that when he had to deal with his future self." Who, thankfully, had been more of a screw up than Bobby's had been. "How did you deal?"