Each cassette recorded one day of my life. 44 years, 365 days per year, 16,060 cassettes chronicling my life thus far. And what about the rest of my life, my future? Not just the future without Bullwinkle, a future he anticipated ("About time you figured it out."), but the future I saw on those tapes, the one where he remains with me in my living room, watching cartoons of himself and holding a can of Pepsi from which he will never drink, and all the other possible futures in the rest of all possible worlds? Were they, too, neatly packed below? After I destroyed my past, how many thousands, millions, more days would I have left to feed those pupils?

The phone rang. I couldn't answer it. I had my work cut out for me.