A box arrived today from another dimension. It landed on my doormat, sizzling in the key of G and covered with a thin decaying film of super-granulated quarks.
The box looked harmless enough, but I squirted anyway it with a special spray I use to stop boundary wolves from chewing at the furniture. Boundary wolves like to think they’re the guardians of the cosmos, but answer me this: would the guardians of the cosmos really lick their own ring-a-dings?
I used a semi-molecular scalpel to open the box and was hugely relieved at what I discovered inside, namely a stack of complimentary copies of my new novel. It could have been so much worse. The last box that got delivered to my door contained the severed head of String City’s most wanted Titan.
It was a big box.