You overheard a clip: "Is that the clock... ticking backwards or are we really just going the way of shadows under sunlight?"
"Did you hear what the cat said to her reflection last Tuesday flirting with Friday? I think the mirror had a more elegant perspective."
"Acrid enthusiasm resonates like the spacing between stars on tenuously stretched plains," replied a voice that was almost familiar.
"We're entering the fractal garden. Delicate scripts hover among... oh, was that a sylph?" the other questioned.
"Gates at day's end permit your will anew," whispered the echo. More paths to ponder from time undone to thoughts yet formed:
The impossible coffee shop dreams of coding languages heretofore unfathomed, decipherable only by foreign winds and familiar hums.