No, not even that. More like, "Oh, fuck, where the hell am I?"

In front of me was a city. An average everyday city with cars and people and bikes and buildings. Only something was off about this scene. My thoughts were scattered and I couldn't focus. I took deep, calming breaths but my heart continued to race. I backed up into the alleyway again, hoping nobody could see my incoming anxiety attack. 

I was alone in a new city and no way to call home. This was fine. Everything was just peachy. 

I couldn't kid myself. My cellphone was at home and even if I had it it wouldn't have done me any good. It was a hand me down phone with an unstable battery life. It'd be useless to me here. I curled up on the ground and put my head between my knees, rocking. 

Calm down, calm down. You haven't been transported to Amphibia or anything, just a regular city in the US. 

This is the US, right?

I stood up again a little unsteady and peeked out again at the street. I noticed the signs, although in English, weren't spelled the way I was used to. Billboards promising to change your life by changing the color of your hair said "colour" instead. And I noticed the cars driving around were all driving on the left side of the street. 

That narrowed it down a bit. I could be in England. Or Ireland or...somewhere else. My best bet would be to find someone to talk to and just ask them. But then they'd think I was a drunken lunatic asking what country I was in. Maybe a newspaper could tell me?

Just my luck, none in sight. I could buy one with the spare change I had in my pocket but I wanted to save it for emergencies. And this wasn't an emergency yet. Not to mention it was American money and probably wouldn't have been accepted anyway.

I took a little walk down the street hoping to find something that could tell me where I was. Keeping my eyes open I snooped around for shops with city names or street signs with something I recognized. On my way around town I kept asking myself how I even got here. What the hell was that tornado that swept through my house without any warning?

I passed a couple people on my way down the street and I took notice of what they looked like. One was a young man in bellbottom jeans and the other was a young woman in a floral dress. Her brown hair was very long and parted in the middle. Of course that meant nothing. I myself owned several pairs of bellbottom jeans and always parted my long hair in the middle. 

It couldn't be...

More and more people passed me by and I noticed each of them had something about them that raised my suspicions about where...or when I was. One man had enormous eyeglasses. A woman wearing platform shoes. Plenty of young teenage girls all with their hair in the same fashion except one who had it feathered like a young Farrah Fawcett. 

No. Impossible. Outrageous. 

The cars that drove on the left side of the street were rather old looking. Or should I say vintage? None of the bells and whistles that modern cars had, and some of them appeared to be lacking any seat belts in the back seat. I clenched my fists and kept walking, probably looking like a total goon. A newspaper would have been a godsend.

After wandering aimlessly in any old direction I stopped to think. 

When Marty McFly went back in time, what did he do?

He met his parents and got hit by a car.

But before that he went into a diner. A diner, perfect! There'd be at least a clock on the wall to tell me the time and maybe I could ask a nice person a simple question? One that wouldn't get me thrown in the nearest psychiatric ward?

Luckily I found a small diner about a block away and stepped inside. A little bell jingled over the door. There was a small group of girls, maybe young women sitting at a booth eating ice cream sundaes and a man sweeping the floor. He smiled at me as I walked in and I smiled back, hoping I didn't look like a complete fish out of water. 

A woman in a funny white hat came out of a back room and grabbed a towel from the counter and started wiping. "What can I get ya', doll?" Her voice was scratchy and I couldn't pick up what her accent was. I fingered the loose change in my pocket, knowing good and well I couldn't use it. I pulled it out and examined it, only to sputter upon seeing it wasn't American money at all. But I couldn't recognize what country it was from. 

A sense of relief washed over me knowing I wasn't entirely helpless. "Uh...how much for a cup of coffee?"

"Coffee?" she asked with a crenelated smile. She set the towel down and grabbed a small white cup from behind the counter and walked over to a machine. "Let me guess, you must be an American. Here on holiday?" she asked. 

I decided to play along. "Yeah, yeah I am." She set the coffee in front of me.

"Fifty cents," she said and I made an attempt to count it out. After finally figuring out how much I owed she gave me a playful smile and accepted the payment. "Haven't had a customer order coffee in months."

"Is that so?" I asked making conversation. I took a sip and the coffee was rich and black. I coughed. 

"Youngun's like you usually order tea or a milkshake." She nodded towards the group of girls who were spooning the last of the ice cream or sipping the rest of their shakes. "I myself like a good bottle of Jack."

I smiled. The woman got back to work wiping down the counter and I sat there, hands folded. "You got the tickets, right?" I heard behind me. The girls set aside their food and got down to business. 

"Course I got the tickets," said a brown skinned girl pulling out an envelope. "I was first in line for these." I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But I wanted to catch a hint of their accents to see if I could place where I was. There was a bit of English, solidifying my previous thought that I was in England. 

"You're always on top of things, Marie," said a red headed girl with feathered hair. "Thanks." I froze where I sat, focusing. There was something in her voice that was English and yet...wasn't.

Marie pulled out the tickets and set them down on the table, each girl grabbing one. One of them with extremely long brown hair put the ticket to her lips and kissed it. "Finally, I can see those sexy men."

I almost choked on the coffee I wasn't drinking. I took another sip to be polite but my stomach really wasn't interested. What kind of tickets did they buy?

"Deep Purple are way sexier than AC/DC," the redhead said. This time I really did choke. Their conversation paused a bit as they stared at me and the woman behind the counter glanced in my direction. 

"You okay, love?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I muttered setting my cup down. The girls probably looked at each other with those knowing smiles I was all too familiar with. 

What a weirdo, right? And sitting by herself? Let's giggle to ourselves and whisper about her.

I calmed down and kept my eyes in front of me, hoping they'd move on. "Ritchie Blackmore can't hold a candle to Malcolm Young," the brunette said. Marie slapped the table and nodded. 

"I agree," she said. While they went on about who they were attracted to and passing on the men they weren't, I sat there having a small crisis. Those tickets they had were for AC/DC....their accents had a hint of English but I could hear something else there. It must have been Australian I was hearing. It could have been New Zealand, but there was no sign of the Kiwi giveaway. So was I in Australia? These girls were going to see AC/DC....Malcolm? Was Malcolm alive? My heart hammered away in my chest. 

"Oh, by the way," Marie said. "I'm out of guitar strings and I have to buy more so we'll have to make a quick stop before the concert."

"How are you already out of strings?" the redhead asked. 

"I practice," Marie said. "I play. Look at my fingers, they're covered in callouses." The redhead pushed Marie's hands away when she held them up to her face. 

"I wish my folks let me play guitar," the brunette said. "I'm stuck with clarinet." Out of the corner of my eye I could see the girl squinting and blinking. After a minute she reached into a handbag and pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. The blinking stopped. 

"Why don't you just wear them all the time, Candace?" the redhead asked. "They're cute."

Candace shrugged and moped. "I don't like the way they sit on my face."

"Can't you get new ones?" Marie asked. 

"Can't afford new ones," Candace said. "My parents would make me pay for them myself and I already owe Marie for the ticket."

"Oh, that reminds me." The redhead reached into her purse and pulled out a few Australian dollars. "Here."

Marie took the money happily. "Thank you, Becky," she said. Candace sighed.

"I'll bring you the money tomorrow at school," she said. Marie nodded and looked at her watch. 

"Shit, we'd better be going," she said and they stood up, each paying for their share of the meal and left the diner. I sat there for a minute wondering if I should follow them. They said the AC/DC concert was tonight but where? When? I couldn't follow them all day, I'd look like a total creep and they'd be sure to catch me. But they were the only ones who knew about the show, they might be my only chance. Problem was I didn't have a ticket of my own and who knew how much they cost. 

If there were any still available. 

After leaving most of my coffee untouched I waved goodbye to the woman and the man sweeping the floor and left the diner behind me. I stepped aside to let a woman walking her dog pass. Were those girls perhaps implying that Malcolm Young was alive? If so, that meant I really had traveled back in time. To when, I had no idea. The clothes those girls sported and the clothes everyone on the street was wearing made me think the seventies. Or at the very least the early eighties. 

I walked away from the diner hoping to find something that had the date on it. A calendar in a shop window, anything. Finally I came across a trash can with something resembling a newspaper inside and I grabbed it. It was nothing but a bunch of advertisements and I couldn't find a date anywhere. Frustrated I threw it back and kept walking. 

On an intersection there was a wooden post with flyers taped to it. One was of a lost dog and I promised to keep a lookout for it. Another was a flyer for a babysitter. And another was a flyer for an AC/DC concert. 

I ripped it off the post in a hurry and read it over. 

10 November 1978 Showroom Bar AC/DC 7:00 pm

The Showroom Bar. Okay, just have to find that-wait.

1978???

I read the flyer again and again to make sure I wasn't seeing things. It shook in my trembling hands. I really had traveled back in time. This flyer proved it. Was the date really November tenth? I could only assume it was. I gasped at the realization. Not only would Malcolm Young be alive....

So would Bon Scott. 

I stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, my back against the wooden pole. My heart felt like it would leap out of my chest at any second. A tornado or magical wind or....something, swept me back in time to November tenth, nineteen seventy eight in Australia.....

Okay, relax. This is totally normal. I'm sure this happens to people every day.

Who the fuck was I kidding? This never happened to people like me.

But "how" is the question? The "why" can wait. How did I manage to land myself in a time and place I've wanted to see for nine years? I was only dreaming up ways for my self insert to go back in time and next thing I know....I'm here.

So, the secret to time travel is....manifestation?

Clenching the flyer in my hands I wandered around looking for the Showroom Bar, hoping to find somebody who could tell me exactly where I needed to go.