Your ticket unfolds into a staircase leading to a glass-roofed carriage. Outside, stars carry labels: The bakery she nearly opened. The apology he kept rewriting. One holds the afternoon you almost telephoned your father from a service station. Inside its light, you see yourself make the call. Neither of you says anything clever. You talk about a leaking gutter. You ask Quill what happens next. We don't know. That is where a possibility becomes somebody's life. At a desk, someone has drawn the same sunrise dozens of times. Every drawing stops before the sun reaches the horizon. A yellow sleeve slips through the next doorway. Quill touches a page. The wet ink smears across his paw. She was here just now. Below you, a child starts the same unfinished song again.
A midnight train has lost its final minute. Follow a silver fox through impossible stations, and find your own way to morning.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.