There was a door.
And it was a passage between two sides.
Every time you walked through that door, you’d find yourself at a different time and place.
I crossed the door three times, but maybe seven.
On the last time, I found myself walking behind a large group of women in their fifties on a sunny day.
They were regularly dressed like office workers on a lunch break, except for certain details.
Like one of them had a totally red skin. Bright, intense red glowing like lava.
What year is this?
I asked them.
Replied another whose skin was the colour of the rainbow.
And they all broke up giggling and laughing.
No, seriously, I want to know what year is this. Can you tell me?