Such indescribable uncertainty. What is this bug sitting in front of me? It reflects light like a prism, held up by four round squishy blobs of rubber with some shiny metal on the inside them. Where I come from ,the early 1900’s, there is nothing like this. Here. There are tons of them, a plethora of colorations. I haven’t even seen some of these shades of color before.
HONK! I’ve been shot! Intense ringing builds up in my eardrums, causing my breath to suddenly quicken like I just reached the end of  a mile sprint. One of the bugs is approaching me, it’s squishy blobs hit the dark pathment so smoothly, it’s as if it’s gliding on ice. it makes no noise at is gets closer and closer. It’s silence presses on me.
The bug stops at my feet, a door on its right side flies open a short figure steps out. Is that a child? His deep over says otherwise.
“Get outta my way, you crazy imbecile!” My brain can’t handle this jumbled mess of words coming out of this mans mouth.
Finding myself on my feet I stand about seven inches taller than the guy, not that it matters, but it’s kind of entertaining to point out other people's misfortunes. Since leaving the farm I haven’t gotten the chance, that’s all me and my buddies would do all day. We would sit on the street curb and point out everyone's flaws. Wow, we were horrible people. I guess traveling into the future doesn’t change the way a person is at all. That’s when I realise I’m still standing in front of this man's bug.
“What do you call these things?” I ask, hoping he will give me answer, even though I’ve made him wait here for such a long while now.
“It’s a car you dimwitted hobo! Now move it, before I call the cops!” rage fluctuates towards me in shock waves of hatred. He doesn’t like me, I don’t see why he would, I’ve put him through so much trouble.
I guess getting out of his way would be a great idea, so I do and he gets back into his bug, I mean car, now that I know what they are called. I really want one of these. It’s make traveling so much easier. Back at the farm we have to walk everywhere we go. My feet show it too, all callused and covered in dirt. No wonder he thinks I’m a hobo. It looks like I’ve been living in a gutter for my whole life. Well you could call a farm a gutter, but I’d prefer it not be called that. I love that farm, in fact, not being able to see fields of corn and cows grazing is putting me through withdrawls.
This place is so weird. Why did I come here in the first place. This isn’t even remotely where I want to be right now. I didn't volunteer for this by the way. My buddies thought it’s be funny to throw me in this machine we found, push some buttons and watch what happens. Well I’m here now. They’re probably freaking out back home. I’m freaking out here because I don’t know how I am supposed to get home.