THE WORMHOLE

The other day I entered a temporal wormhole while I was hopping around Central Park. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of an Indian ceremony. There were at least a thousand individuals, all of whom immediately turned to look at me in disgust. I tried to escape, but I couldn’t go fast hopping on one foot. They caught me and forced me to sweep the wigwam camp. While sweeping, I was able to witness the ceremony that my sudden appearance had momentarily interrupted. A woman was the master of ceremonies. Next to her was a basket full of eggs. The men of the tribe were filing in an orderly manner before the woman, who would crush an egg on the head of each one. This was considered a great honor among men, but a laughable humiliation among women. While the men showed a reverent attitude towards the ceremony, the women laughed out loud every time an egg was smashed. Taking advantage of the fact that everybody was distracted, I frantically searched for the wormhole to return to civilization. I finally found it next to an old Indian woman who charged admission. Each ticket costed fifteen seashells but she accepted my wristwatch. When I returned, Central Park was going to close.

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