"All the stars seem to blink and sputter out at once as you approach the small shack, a glowing emerging underneath the leathery flowing flaps from steam and smoke. As the mixture of burnt wood and iron enters your nostrils, you flip back the crude flaps to find him there. Short in stature but firm in his place, a long angry beard intertwines into his feathers and tassels adorned from his robe.
"Are you the-"
The shaman snaps immediately, "- the algorithm? Yes, student, yes."
He motions you to sit and you take your place across the boiling brew producing a smell somewhere between pine needles and beer on cement.
"And I've brought you here. I could see all your interests and products laid before you, a great road in the sky leading you right to that spot."
You try to interject, but he quickly steals the floor once again. He begins in his hurried and hushed tone.
"There was a venue here once. A coffeeshop/art gallery/scone spot. And you could rent board
games there too. The walls were adorned with crude approximations of jellyfish, cowboy boots, and 8 balls. They would have shows every other Friday night, and near every local troupe tried their hand at it."
"Why are you telling me all thi-"
"That is... Until they played."
That's when he produced the garment. The plastic fibers still soft to the touch, the ink pristine and uncracked. It was there. It was perfect. The Captain Jazz Rock Against Bush 04 T Shirt. The product. The perfect product.
You blink in disbelief and suddenly the man and the entire gazebo vanish. All that was left was you, the product, and 14 American dollars from handing him two 20s."