I would look at myself from the past and he would look at me. Our eyes would meet as we examined each other's posture: mine, tall yet slumped, his, perky and bright. His idealism would counter my amorality and blend into a delicious pink smoothy of frothy goodness. His curly afro would stand in stark contrast to my flattened, straighted hair. For a moment, we would stare at each other and enjoy each others company. But then, he would look up, smile, and say, "have you gotten those books published? are you going into a great career which doesn't involve bland, 9-to-5 jobs? what about all of those creative ideas we've had back in the day? is the world going mad over our wondrous inventions?"
My smile would fade, and in a moment, he would realize, and so would his. And then we would both weep, sorrow tears of black sorrow.
OR!
He would come out of his time machine and be all like "BRO LET'S GET SOME ICE CREAM!" and I'd be all like "HELLZ YEH!" and then we'd get ice cream and it would be amazing.