When I was a kid, I stole a strange looking watch that said “time travel device” from an old homeless man.

At 68, all I had left was that watch, and it worked, but I can’t get back because some damn kid stole it. The old man looked at the watch, tears streaming down his face as he realized he was stranded in time. As he stumbled along the streets, people avoided him, looking at him with disgust and fear. He was the homeless man, scavenging for food in the trash cans. All he had left was that watch, his ticket to a new life. But now, he was stuck, unable to return to his time. As days passed, his hair turned grey, his skin wrinkled, and his eyes grew tired. The city changed around him, buildings rising and falling, people coming and going, and yet he remained, a stranger in a strange time. And then, one day, he saw it. The watch, in a shop window, gleaming in the sunlight. It was his watch, his time travel device, stolen from him years ago by a cruel kid. He walked in, his heart beating fast, and asked for the watch. The shopkeeper looked at him and smiled. “Ah, I see you found your way back,” he said, handing him the watch. The old man put it on his wrist, feeling the familiar weight and warmth. He closed his eyes and pressed the button, and then… nothing. The watch was broken, the button stuck, and the old man was trapped forever in a time that wasn’t his own.