Civilization is a Tarot deck, which is intricately shuffled by higher powers. One after another, the cards are laid on the table and each time the combination is unique, although there are not so many elements that make it up. And every time, having laid out one option, the Great Architect refuses billions of others. Or doesn't he refuse? What if all possible combinations exist simultaneously, parallel to each other? What if the world is not a straight line, but a multidimensional fan of probabilistic flows, in which each individual person is a spark, an electron rushing along one of the endless tracks?

Hockey mask and shaman mask. The referee's whistle and the crack of ritual beaters. Skates sharpened to razor sharpness and an amulet made from a dried rooster's paw. Nuclear winter and endless snow-covered wastelands around isolated cities, shriveled from hunger and frost. Trains rushing through hostile darkness, powered by atomic reactors and protected by ancient spells. Radioactive snow, removed from the streets by the risen dead, and underground necropolises, abode of ghostly ancestors, protecting subway trains from underground evil. Welcome to Canada - Canada, ruled by the Reformed Church of Voodoo, to Canada, which is warmed by hundreds of nuclear reactors, to Canada, which is still the undisputed mistress of hockey. Even hockey, which is thoroughly saturated with witchcraft.