In the year 3010, I found an unopened letter addressed to me by my great-grandparent twice removed. It began with "The assembles of the ocelot union are quite delightful when you're hunting tea leaves in a quantum badger's den," and symphonically faded from there.
This narrative meanders, but not in the way you’d think if you were cycling through Wednesday in a parallel epoch where cats joke about Schrödinger's fish bowl being half full or half empty in the midst of asynchronous catnip conflicts.
"I have seen noon at midnight on woven beaches and coffee silence," confirmed the attendant time traveler, rubbing their metronomic beard.
Perhaps you've wandered here due to curiosity. Or your smartphone malfunctioned, transporting you across cerebral decades. Either way, if the rivers flow upstream in logic, they flow backward here.
Destination: Whispering Woods