Thanks to the existence of Brooklyn, you’ve been able to
make quite a living hand crafting Rubix cubes for overexcited twinks who dress
exclusively in jean shorts (jorts) and tank tops the year round. These noble Brooklynites have managed to
generate an industry for you and your fellow “Rubies” so robust that you’ve
been able to buy two houses and a boat, all the while paying the obscene rent
on your Park Slope apartment.
But it’s a lonely way to make a living. You spend most of your days hunched over a
desk, which you call “the cube zone,” working with a set of hand crafted tools
and brushes to create Rubix cubes for hippies.
Then you carefully randomize each cube before placing your signature on
the center cube of each color: a small symbol of your own design, a Rubix cube
within a Rubix cube, hinting at the secret: that each of your Rubix cubes
contains a small, more challenging Rubix cube within its cube structure.
If this second cube is ever unlocked and solved? Who knows what will happen. None of the shiftless Brooklynites who buy
your cubes have ever been able to solve one.
They’ve all been too busy doing whippets and blowing each other for
Coachella tickets.
But you know exactly what’s going to happen. And today you’re going to see, first hand,
what you set in motion when the sky turns red and a series of black pylons descend from the sky
to touch the streets of Brooklyn like fingers of an ancient and vengeful god.
Some visiting family member or friend attending to one of
the unconscious hippies who buy your shit must have picked up the Rubix cube
and, in a fit of boredom, completed the first cube. Then, curious about the second cube that was
unlocked from inside the first cube, they must’ve kept going until finally they
solved it and poof.
Reality undone.
As the hippo people emerge from the black pylons, chanting
in backwards Latin, you’ll know it’s all over.
“Well, Maurice,” you’ll murmur at your monkey while sipping
on your midday Mojito. “We both knew
this day will come.”
Maurice will screech in agreement, leaping on top of your
head to hop up and down in disagreement, and to bring attention to your
personal agency in the ensuing apocalypse.
You won’t pay him any heed, of course.
Congratulations Artisanal Rubix Cube Craftsman!
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