The delivery receipt is dated 2094

Marisol Cots, second-grade clerk at the Civil Registry of Sabadell, signs fourteen delivery receipts every morning between nine and ten. That is the first thing she does: stamp, date, short signature, next one. She has been at it for twenty-two years and has never looked twice at the same sheet.

Receipt number seven on this Tuesday comes with two copies stapled together. The first one is fine: 4 February 2025, same day. The second one also carries her name and her signature, but the stamp reads 12 October 2094. The staple is recent. The ink of the stamp is her own, the round one with the blue coat of arms. The signature is hers.

Marisol calls Josep Nogué, the IT technician. He tells her there is no error in the system: the printer for receipts only puts the computer's date, and the computer is in 2025. He also tells her the stamp, at most, must have been applied by hand.

Marisol slides the second copy into the pocket of her lab coat. At half past four, before leaving, she takes it out to throw it away. She finds a Post-it stuck on the back, in what is also her own handwriting:

—The original I'll give you in October.