3a2a27a1

A bee-hexagon suddenly falls out of our eyes, into the untextured dark. Down into the dark machine, where a system of levers and lights will measure its weight against an unknown standard... don't worry, this valuable hex will be certified as a-ok, useable as local currency, and with a clack the great vending machine will grind, and deliver whatever soda or destiny or weapon we wanted to buy... the purchase dropping with a heavy thud out of the invisible universe inside the machine, dropping like the moon out of the sky onto Jacob's helmeted head.