We pass by shrimp shacks, an old-fashioned arcade, and tourist shops with Los Angeles or Santa Monica written all over mugs, sweatshirts, and random tchotchkes. Most of them look like things you could buy back in our time, except for a snow globe with a miniature version of the pier inside, complete with moving roller coasters and Ferris wheel, seagulls flying overhead, and crashing waves. It looks as real as the pier we’re standing on, yet fits in the palm of my hand and has no glass surrounding it. I turn it upside down and sparkly lights appear instead of snow, dancing around the tiny pier. They vanish the second they hit the “ground.” The birds continue to fly in circles, and when I touch the water, it’s cool and wet. Incredible.

The icy wind whips my hair and I shove my hands in my pockets. A few tourists pass by, some wearing shorts and looking surprised that Los Angeles could get this cold. There are a few locals too—couples on dates or people who got off work and are heading for a bar. But for the most part the pier is empty. People in LA just don’t go out when it rains.

We stop to check out a group of balloon animals for sale that seem to be alive, twisting into different shapes and colors as we watch. One forms a dachshund that barks out loud, tail wagging. Another becomes a big, round happy face, smiling at us while it changes colors every few seconds. There’s also a dolphin that seems to leap through the air, a bird that flies back and forth, and a T. rex that roars and stomps around. The last one is my favorite.

“They’re all programmable,” the vendor says. “You pick the shape and whatever you want it to do or say from dozens of options.”

Zoe buys a butterfly that flits around her head, shifting between different sparkling colors, while Trent gets a black cat that curls up on his shoulder and purrs. They can’t take them back to the present with us, but at least they can enjoy them for the next few hours.

There are lots of restaurants on the pier, including a Mexican restaurant that’s been there forever, but we decide to eat at one of the little food stands outside. It’s automated like the Frosty Foam we visited earlier in the day. A few seconds after we each punch in our orders—and pay with our fake IDs, courtesy of Wombat—it pops out hot burgers and fries, along with sodas and warm, sugary funnel cake. We grab our food and sit at a long wooden table that’s still damp from the earlier rain.

“So, do you think this plan will work?” Chris asks as he unwraps his burger.

“Hey, no talking about that now,” Trent says, waving a fry around. “We’re supposed to be having fun, remember?”