I recently read Joe Hill's first short in Strange Weather, Snapshots. It's quite good, but something's nagging at me. I've read it before. I don't remember the words, exactly, but I remember the imagery. The old lady in the rain coat. The fat kid and the man with the Caddy at the gas station. The camera that steals memories. One after the next, I'm convinced I've encountered them before two days ago.
Deja what?
Deja what?