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I stop and stare at the "For Sale" sign, written in red ink, words hastily scrawled across it, taped up haphazardly by someone clearly in a hurry: "For Sale: Time Machine. Please buy soon."

A woman runs out of what must be the time machine, screaming, as a man chases after her, grabs her by the arm, and pulls her back. "I'm sorry," he says to me. "She won't stop changing things. She doesn't understand what the consequences are." They both disappear with the time machine.

"How bizarre," I think as I leave, whistling through all three of my mouths.

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