Oh, hey guy. Excuse me for interrupting your guitar playing.
I assume it's an amazing song even though I can't hear it, 'cause, I'm in the 21st century and you're in 1960-something, and the audio on the time machine is the total pits right now.
But my computer just notified me that Amy is currently extant within these exact coordinates.
Uh, yeah, no ... I didn't mean to blow your mind, as you say. I'm just looking for Amy. Seen her anywhere?
I should look up?
You're just a bit ... high.
Of course I mean physically high, which could mean different things in the 1960s, but I digress.
Okay. So I'm still trying to figure out exactly where you are in 1960-something. The time machine's fluxator still isn't right and the date-stamp portal you went through is no help at all.
However, according to your present state, I'm thinking you might be in 1967.
And that's the Summer of Love
It's said that the local council there has come up with the title "Summer of Love" in 1967, putting a positive vibe on the travels and gathering of hippies, often regarded as a negative movement.
You're heading out to San Francisco?
Yeah, don't blame you one bit.
Let me know when you arrive so I don't have to disturb whatever you're doing in the Summer of Love. Ya, you know what I mean.