Вот вам пока текст, этакий бредбери-гейман.
When I was young, we had a time machine
To tell us every time what could have been.
To confidently know what happens if,
Avoid cliff-hangers and unclimb the cliff.
We ran it pretty much continuously
For A/B testing but without the bee
To see where both diverging paths would take
And then to have a cake and eat the cake
It either vanished, clock unwound at last,
Or else my father took it to the past.
My mother, her timeline unreconciled
Thinks I still use it to remain a child.
I don't exactly cry over spilled gears,
But still don't get the normal count of years,
Lost interest in unverified advice,
And miss our swimming in the river Twice.