Stanley strolled down the dimly lit street, his hands tucked into his coat pockets against the crisp evening chill. The faint hum of a jazz band echoed from a nearby club, mingling with the distant sound of a car horn. It was the 1950s a world of sleek cars, sharp suits, and a society caught in the throes of change.

As he passed a shadowy alleyway, a flicker of movement caught his attention. He hesitated, glancing back. There, under the muted glow of a flickering streetlamp, a woman was slowly pulling herself to her feet. She looked dazed, as though she'd just woken from a deep sleep. Her clothes were odd jeans and a graphic T-shirt, nothing like the dresses and skirts common in this era.

Stanley's brow furrowed. Something was off. “Hey,” he called out cautiously, stepping closer, “You all right? You’re… uh, not dressed like you’re from around here.”

She blinked, still trying to get her bearings. And that’s when it hit him. This woman didn’t just look out of place. Somehow, impossibly, she seemed like she didn’t belong in this time at all.

(Congratulations. You’ve just time-traveled from the present day into the 1950s.)