Have you ever been mistaken for someone, like I have? Especially someone famous? Something like that happened to me in October of 1999.

I had a couple of hours to kill on this incarnation of Earth, which was not enough time to find this world's incarnation of Quinn and seek help. Tiring of the library, I walked until I reached the Carson Mall, which was in Carson, California.

There were dozens of shops inside the mall, seeling clothes and toys and gifts and stuff. Sears and JC Penney were the anchor department stores. It was the afternoon, and there werew a lot of people milling about. Half of them were under eighteen years old.

I bumped into this Negro youth near a Kay Bee toy store.

"Excuse me," I said. "My apologies."

The teen began to wealk away when he suddenly turned around. "I know you," he said.

"You do?" I asked.

"You might have shaved off that goatee, but I know you. You're the Grandmaster C!"

Grandmaster C? What was he talking about? "You must be confusing me with someone else," I said.

"I have all your CD's," he said. "I was listening to you since I was little! What brings you all the way to Carson?"

"Hey!" some girl shouted. "It's the Grandmaster C! He's really here in the mall!"

Suddenly, I saw a bunch of teenagers approach me, like they were star-struck or something.

I saw a Sam Goody Music Store. I went inside. There were all these racks filled with albums, in CD, vinyl, and cassette form. Some old CD albums were being sold at a fifteen percent discount.There were racks for VHS video cassettes and DVD's. Stickers on the cash register indicated that Discover, Visa, American Express, and Master Card were accepted.

On the wall were posters advertising new albums. There was a poster of this blond-haired lady named Shakira. There was another poster of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I saw posters for Christina Aguilera and Snoop Doggy Dogg.

And I saw the poster for the Grandmaster C.

He was a man in his mid-twenties, with brown hair and a goatee. He wore a leather jacket and a gold chain and a baseball cap backwards. I recognized him, for the Grandmaster C was none other than Colin Mallory.

He was this world's version of me!

"Sign my math book," said a boy.

"Sign my T-shirt," said a girl.

"Sign my tits," said another girl.

I only had a minute or so left, so I decided to sign the autographs. The Grandmaster C and I have identical handwriting, after all.

I took one of my duplicate's albums, titled 2 Cool 4 U. I went to the cashier, a Negro man in his early twenties.

"Hey," he said. "Nice to have you in my store! Are you here to promote your album? You should have told me you were coming!"

"I'd like to buy this," I said.

"Why would you want to buy what you recorded just a month ago?" asked the cashier.

"Do you want the money?" I asked.

"It will be thirteen fifty."

I pulled out the cash that I had and gave it to him. "You're kidding me," he said. "This isn't real money, and I know you're a millionaire. Just use your thumbprint."

I pressed my thumb on to a pad marked, "ENTER THUMBPRINT HERE.". It then asked me to choose a bank account. I chose Washington Mutual.

the receipt printed out and I signed it.

"Hey Grandmaster C!" shouted the cashier. "Come back anytime."

I went to the back of the store, where the DVD's were. I only had seconds left. I looked at the crowd of the Grandmaster C's fans.

I then felt weightless for a moment.

When I felt the Earth's gravity again, I noticed the crowd of teenagers were gone. The store still had the same layout as before, and the cashier looked the same as before. I had a few days on this world, enough time to find Quinn.

I looked at the album posters on the wall. I saw Shakira, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Christina Aguilera, and Snoop Doggy Dogg in the same order as before.

The Grandmaster C was not there. Instead, in this version of the Sam Goody Music Store in Carson Mall, there was a poster of some lady named Celine Dion.

I walked over to the cashier, noting that the store accepted the same credit cards as before, and even had a thumbprint device.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"You never seen me before?' I asked. "I don't look familiar?"

"Can't say that I have," said the cashier.

"Well, I am the Grandmaster C!" I said. "you never heard of the Grandmaster C?"

"Nope."

"Look at this," I said, showing him the Grandmaster C album from the previous world.

"So you got a demo CD," he said.

"is there a place where I can listen to this?" I asked.

"If you don't have a discman, you could go to the library. It's on Avalon, north of here. Before you go there, though, you should get Shakira's new album. You know, she's the same age as I am. I would love nothing more than to do her fast and hard!"

"Wouldn't we all," I said. then I left Sam Goody.

The layout of the mall was the same as before; a few of the stores were different. Sears and JC Penney were still the anchors. There were still plenty of teenagers at the mall, and I even recognized some of them as duplicates of the Grandmaster C's fans in the previous world, including the Negro youth I bumped into, and the girl who asked me to sign her tits.

I left the mall and crossed the parking lot. I was walking north on the sidewalk running along Avalon Boulevard. I crossed Del Amo Boulevard and walked north until I reached the public library.

I have been visiting lots of public libraries over the past year, as they often give me a lot of information about the world. I went inside. It looked like any other library, with a librarian's desk and shelves filled with books. There were computer terminals.

there was also a music listening terminal. A sign read, "IF ALL TERMINALS ARE FULL, LIMIT LISTENING TIME TO 30 MIN."

There were plenty of open seats.

I inserted the Arista Records CD into the Sony CD player and put on the headphones.

The Grandmaster C was actually an excellent singer. Maybe I should have been a gansta rapper.

I removed the CD and put it in its case. I decided to go to the Internet terminal and see if I could find Quinn Mallory. Within minutes, I had a hit! He existed. I jotted down his phone number.

I went to a public phone and dialed 0 for the operator. I made a collect call to Quinn's number. I told the operator who I was.

"Colin?" he asked. "Where are you? I haven't seen you in months."

"What I'm gonna tell you will be difficult to explain," I said. "I should see you in person."

"Yes," he said, calmer than when he first spoke to me. "See me in person."

I knew that Carson was quite a distance from San Francisco.

The ATM at the 7-Eleven accepted thumb prints, and since I had a counterpart on this world, I could just use my thumbprint to withdraw from my duplicate's bank account. I withdrew two hundred dollars.

I then went to a Greyhound bus station in Los Angeles. It had twenty-four hour service, and a trip to San Franciso would cost sixty dollars. I paid the sixty dollars and boarded the bus, with only a bag of Doritos to satisfy my hunger.

The Greyhound bus spent the bulk of its journey on U.S. Highway 101. I passed through Ventura, Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Salinas, and San Jose. After a six hour journey, the bus got off the 101 and arrived at the bus station. Even at this late hour, it was plenty crowded. There were people lining up at the ticket booths, others sitting on benches,others smoking cigarettes, and others buying stuff from vending machines like the one where I bought the Doritos. The whole place was dirty, and there was trash on the floor.

I went to a Pacific Bell public telephone and called for a taxi. Within minutes, a yellow Ford Crown Victoria taxi arrived, driven by this Russian man.

I got in the taxi. I had seen other versions of this Russian man, all driving taxis. We drove through the traffic. Within minutes, the taxi stopped in front of the apartment where my brother lives. I got off and paid the driver.

I looked upon the apartment building, a white rectangular building with two levels. Quinn lived on the first floor. I went to Apartment 3 and rang the doorbell. The door opened.

"Colin," said Quinn. "We've been expecting you. Come on in."

I went inside his apartment. The living room was covered in a green carpet. There was a coffee table and a Sony color television. A Nintendo 64 was attached to the TV.There were photographs on the table-of my parents and a dark-haired girl. To the left was a small kitchen with a Kenmore refrigerator and a dining table and a stove.

I put down the Grandmaster C CD. "Quinn," I said. "There is something I have to tell you. I may look like your brother."

"And we have something to tell you," someone said. I looked, and saw four people in suits.

"I am Agent Copeland, FBI," said the man. "these are Agents Yenn and Tremelo. Colin Mallory, you are under arrest."

"Under arrest?" I asked.

"You've been evading us for four months," said Yenn. "We've got you now."

I was placed in the back seat of a Ford Crown Victoria and led away.