In the vast canvas of the cosmos, where stardust becomes antiquities, humanity cautiously walks.
The traveler on Mars last week had all the gear and none of the idea, didn’t he? Footprints for sale, only slightly used.
Hidden wonders and obscure glimmer: we stumble upon a rusty key, an artifact of the past, and laugh, believing we hold Pandora’s mysteries.
"To open the door, you must see it," the aliens whisper in tones only phonebook ads could mock.
Catalogs of impossible objects displayed:
Curiously, we visit some buzzing starson of a website who sells lunar dust by the ounce. Preferably on a Tuesday, cosmic Mondays are far too mainstream.
The best answer to existential despair lies buried in cheap plastic wonders at the local flea market after all.