The pop-up read, 'You got mail, Holder!' He tapped a few keys and brought up his email account. One message was from his colleague, and another was from the company president. He opened the department mail first to learn he had been assigned to a new project, no description included, and was expected to make the company proud with a successful completion.

The message from his pal was a congratulation for landing the coveted assignment. He grabbed his phone and brought up his contacts.

"Murray? It's Eric. Listen, what's this new project I've been assigned? I just got a message from old Folger saying I'm supposed to make the company proud."

"It's the Northgrave account. We're in the competition for their exclusive business, man. Don't you read the memos?"

"Yeah, but why is everybody congratulating me?"

"Because, Ace, You were picked to come up with the winning campaign."

"Me! What do you mean me? We're a department with seven people."

"Right, but, this is a one-man competition and Gil recommended you, and Folger agreed. You've got two weeks, pal."

******

Papers, sketches and photographs lay spread over the table-top of the kitchen table, where Eric Holder sat, looking bleary-eyed and disillusioned. He rarely brought work home, but this latest scheme by his company's owner had left him little choice. He had spent four days already scribbling and sketching, and had nothing satisfying. This will be my neck.

Exhausted and grumpy, Eric saw it was almost ten o-clock. He took a swallow from his drink and made a face, the coffee had gone cold, and he wanted a coffee. A thought occurred to him, and he grabbed his coat and car keys, hopping down the stairs from his apartment to the street.

The colourful sign read, In Your Dreams, in a pleasing script, and underneath in bold caps, the words Coffee Shop. He stood looking at the narrow building, squeezed between a book store and a custom carpet shop. Rumours from people at work, and elsewhere, told of strange secrets and magical happenings, no doubt some wag's clever ad campaign - something he could use right now.

He entered the shop, immediately taking in the aroma of fresh ground coffee, the scent stirred easily by an ornate ceiling fan. There were a few customers, normal looking enough he felt, seated at the small tables. Some on their phones, others just staring idly out the window.

Walking to the counter, he smiled and greeted the young woman in her crisp pink and blue uniform; she seemed to almost glow.

"May I help you?" The glow increased.

"Sure . . . yeah. I'd like a double-double, please."

"Certainly. Which do you prefer, our Light, Intermediate, or Deep - or we have a very special IYD."

"IYD?"

"In your dreams." The glow pulsed.

He chuckled "Aah, I get it. They are all sleep stages. Very clever. What would you recommend for a first timer?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. It's policy. The customer must choose."

Eric grinned. This was certainly different. "Okay, I'll try the very special. Can I get it double-double?"

"However you wish." The mug appeared quickly with a small dollop of cream on top.

"How much?"

"You can pay when you leave." The eyebrows lifted, and a wider smile was added to the glow.

He found an empty table by the window and sat down, giving the place a closer inspection. Pay when you leave! That was a new one. He couldn't seem to find anything unusual about the physical aspects, nothing special in the decor, and the other customers appeared normal - although he couldn't be sure if he had seen any of them move.

"Everything alright, sir?" The smiling girl called to him.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, fine." He picked up his coffee and sipped.

******

The sudden rush of wind in his face startled him, and it took a moment to orient himself. That moment made his blood run cold. He looked around the open cockpit at the wings of a biplane while listening to the roar of a propeller engine. He was flying - alone! And while it looked like one of the old balsa wood model planes he'd assembled as a kid - this one was very different.

Eric realized he was sitting in essentially a wooden plane with a metal fuselage and cowling. He was wearing a leather helmet, goggles and gloves, and was folded into a tiny space with a tiny control panel in front of his knees - and he was doing 89 miles per hour according to the air speed indicator.

He tilted to the right slightly and felt the pull of the rotary engine, wanting to turn, and fought to get control back, keeping it level. How am I doing this? A pair of Vickers machine guns, with synchronized firing mechanisms, allowing them to shoot through the operating propeller, was mounted on the cowling at his eye level. His glance at the landscape below showed smouldering ruins and blackened fields, and the realization struck that he was piloting a plane - in world war one!

A manufacturer's tag was mounted on the top middle of the console, and he leaned closer to read the information. Sopwith Camel F.1. What the hell? With a survey of the few controls, Eric established what almost everything did, although the terms weren't all that clear. His most exciting discovery was the map case, with a flight path and ground locations clearly marked.

Another, longer look at the terrain below revealed a church, and a small village that was marked on the map. Yes!, he muttered, confidence returning now that he believed he knew where he was.

******

"Did you enjoy your coffee, sir?"

"Huh?" Eric sat up, bewildered. He looked around and then up at the girl speaking to him.

"Did you enjoy your double-double IYD?"

"My . . ." He looked at his empty cup and then back at the girl. "Uh- yeah, yeah I guess I did."

"Would you care for another?"

"NO! uh- no, thanks. I think I'd better get going."

"Let me leave you with our complimentary half off coupon for an IYD coffee on your next visit."

"Oh . . . thank you. I paid for this one?"

"Yes you did." The smile made her face shine.

Eric left the shop and stood on the sidewalk gawping about. What happened? He looked at his watch and saw that almost four hours had passed since he first came to the coffee shop. What had happened? He found his car and headed home, his head filled with scrambled thoughts.

Morning arrived in what seemed little more than a few minutes, and Eric stumbled out of bed to prepare for work. A toasted bagel was clutched in his hand, along with all his rough work for the campaign, when he arrived at his desk. The normally friendly or teasing greetings were replaced with concerned faces, and he sat uncomfortably, realizing they were all depending on him for much-needed business.

His friend came over and asked how he was making out with the campaign. Eric gave him a desolate look and pointed to the pile of roughs and scribbled notes.

"Man, you gotta come through on this one, Eric. Accounting is looking at the books with scissors. People are gonna be let go."

"I can't thank you enough for your support, Murray."

"Just sayin'"

"Yeah. Well . . . they might have at least asked me first."

"Haha , right. In your dreams."

Eric paused. "Speaking of that, I uh, went to that coffee shop you mentioned. You know the one with the magic rumour?"

"Oh, yeah, Was it any good? How'd you like it?"

"It was interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah uh- did you do anything while you were there? Did anything happen?"

"What do mean do anything? I haven't been yet."

"I thought you went already."

"Nah, I just heard about it from someone in the office. Honestly I thought the whole thing was a gag."

"Do you know anyone who's been there?"

"Nah, like I said, I thought it was just a joke. Why?"

Eric rubbed his hands over his eyes, "No, no it's nothing."

"Eric?"

"I gotta get going on this thing. I'll talk to you later."

He opened up his email and read the department message again. The reputation of the advertising department sat squarely on his shoulders. The winner take all competition had been arranged by upper management, pitting one person from each company against the others in coming up with the best campaign.

Being that one person from his company left him feeling lost, yet strangely his distress was tinged with a bit of a thrill.

He read again through all the specs on the product, the goals of the client, and the caveat that failure meant no more business with them - ever - the thrill diminished.

Eric opened his graphics files and skimmed through the roughs he'd made, adding the new attempts from home, and set up the screen for comparisons. He stopped at one that drew his attention, and after ten minutes of tweaking, he smiled, this would be the one. He was on track.

Satisfied he knew where he was going, he closed the files and looked around to see if anyone was watching, then started researching the Sopwith Camel, and WW1British airfields.