Do not ask to Wally to speak of the future or truth or beauty; they are all relative, all unfixable, floating, broken things that he bloodies his hands for without fail. He knows the future and the past and trusts neither to stay true. He tries to stop the worst from happening every second of every day, lives on a never ending path with infinite roads and walks them all at once. One day, he says, the path will be fixed, and everyone will live and they will be happy. But he knows that time will pull him apart and put him back together whenever it choses, he knows that he does not control time so much as it controls him.