From the future’s footlights a dim bulb sputters

I went into the archives, pulled the tapes, and threw them in my satchel.
With the originals gone, people would have to rely on the edited copies that had spread throughout the world over the years.
Then, I went into the labs, stepped into the Epimetheus Booth, and removed the handset.
“Number, please?” said a voice.
“July 20,” I said. “1969.”
“Thank you,” said the voice, and I heard the connection tones.
I pulled the slip of paper in my pocket, but I’d stuck my gum in it earlier.
It covered the “a” in “One small step for a man.”