If my memory is correct, it’s at least 2400 miles from here to Santa Monica.
That doesn’t sound that far. Unless you’re on foot.
None of Route 66 exists yet. In Illinois, I stand with Lake Michigan at my back and face an expanse of tallgrass prairie that’s pretty much the limit of attractions—at least until I cross the Mississippi River, in the vicinity of where St. Louis will be some day.
It’s difficult to judge how far off-target the Chronos Device dropped me. I haven’t seen any indigenous people at all. At least a millennium too soon?
Inspired by Friday Fictioneers prompt for this week:
ParkInkSpot 
I like that. Ever since childhood I’ve looked at built-up places and tried to imagine what they might have been like before. I still do it. Nice story.
Thanks! I’d kill for another hundred words, sometimes 😛
Dear Dave,
Welcome to Friday Fictioneers with your imaginative bit of sci-fi. I feel it only fair to warn you that this activity is highly addictive. But it’s an addiction from which I don’t care to recover and you might find yourself feeling the same. 😉
Shalom,
Rochelle
Aw, not my first piece for FF. Just…not sure if I remembered to enter the last one or not.
Looking forward to doing more.