Seven minutes.

Merlins fifteen minute breaks always seem like an eternity of magic

elixirs, releasing of spirits and single dollar coffee. A trip for a muffin was
unexpected and necessary. Braving the frost of a New York December equipped with
a scarf, gloves and Nike sponsored training shorts. Hes got Colorado written all
over him. Three dollars and fifty cents bought him a blueberry muffin. Four minutes.
The gate was running a little behind schedule. Its keeper, tall and a few overtimes
exhausted, softens the harshness of his face after seeing the wind blow the Rocky
Mountains to his door. Youre not from here, eh? his east coast wisdom wondered.
I only went out for a second. A communal laugh sweeps the chill out, leaving only
the warm promise of spring and football in the room. Sending Earths universal
acknowledgment, the boy enters the vertical portal. Five minutes beyond Merlins
grace period, though Tischs labyrinth was awaiting him.