Joey 1997 Better -

"If you’re reading this, it’s already started. Don’t trust the carnival. And whatever you do—don’t go down the Slide of Mirrors on August 17th."

The next morning, the carnival was gone. Under the sycamore tree, a fresh patch of dirt. And in a little boy's bedroom across town, another Joey woke up with a strange feeling, a scar on his palm he didn't remember getting, and a whisper in his ear: joey 1997

Joey found the time capsule on a Tuesday, buried under the old sycamore tree behind his grandmother’s house. The tree had been struck by lightning the night before, splitting open like a book, and there it was: a rusted metal box with "JOEY 1997" scratched into the lid. "If you’re reading this, it’s already started

Joey looked down. His hands were starting to fade, like old film left in the sun. Under the sycamore tree, a fresh patch of dirt

The man smiled sadly. "You don't. You just become the one who buries the box for the next Joey. 1997 wasn't a date, kid. It was a loop."

"Don't go to the fair."