There’s this mountain of pure diamond. It takes an hour to climb it, and an hour to go around it. Every hundred years, a little bird comes. It sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain. And when the entire mountain is chiseled away, the first second of eternity will have passed.
And how would this magic train transport me to the Walmart parking lot? Does it also drive to my flat? No, I don’t think so. /s