This is awesome. I wish you put us in a time machine and take us back to 1895. A man stands at the end of a drafty core door, the 19th century, and in the flickering light 7 oil lamp examines a machine made of nickel and ivory with brass rails, a squat, ugly contraption somehow out of focus, not easy for the core reader to visualize despite a listing of parts and materials. Our hero fiddles with some screws, add a drop of oil and plants himself in the saddle. He grasps a lever with both hands. He is going on a journey. By the way, so are we. When he throws that lever, time breaks from its moorings. The man is nondescript, almost devoid of features, gray eyes and a paleface and not much else. He lacks even a name. He is just the time traveler, for so it will be convenient to speak of him. Time and travel, no one had thought to join those words before now. And that machine with its saddle, it is a fantastic bicycle. The whole thing is the invention of a young enthusiast named wells, who
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