Time. We obsess about it. We try to save it. We try not to waste it. We always seem to be giving it, taking it, running out of it. The clock is our master, and it torments us by slowing to a crawl in some moments and then flying by in others.

Time.

We always, always want more of it.

And we dream of being able to control it.

We dream of machines that would let us skip through time as easily as we move through space in our cars and trains and airplanes.

What if time travel was possible?

Would you believe it?

Would you believe it?

And they got a small beam of light against the mirror.

Real, right.

Oh, real, right.

Oh, no, no, no.

Yeah. I don't know. My people are. Imagine weird. Imagine they've built a time, and you've got a ticket.

Where you had it?

Into the past or into the future.

Maybe you'd love to witness history with your own eyes.

So you head to the Ford Theater on April 14, 1865.

Who cares about the play, our American cousin? You can't take your eyes of the 16th

president of the United States. Man, look how tall Lincoln is. At six foot four, he towers over the

average man of his day who tops out at a mere five foot six look at him sitting there in his box solemnly nodding

that majestic craggy head at acquaintances and strangers alike but of course you know something

the great man does not something only one other in the theater that night knows.

...