, 2015 was an odd day because at 9:26
AM everything humanity had ever made started using itself.
thirteen. My bed bucked me onto a floor that wobbled under my feet. The steps downstairs
tripped me onto a carpet that shuffled me, naked, out the front door to a
morning-dewed lawn. Outside, clippers were sculpting the hedges, hoses were
watering the plants and lawnmowers were cutting perfect, parallel lines in
every yard. My Dad, also wearing nothing — all the clothes were wearing
themselves, walking around in front of mirrors polished and reflecting
perfectly — was wrestling with a pair of sheers that bridled in his hands. He
cursed them as they went scrambling off under a Corvette that had taken itself
out for a cruise.
“Crap,” my Dad said, trying in vain
to open our firmly locked front door. Sun beamed through the sparkling, newly
washed windows and our vacuum cleaner could be heard hoving ceaselessly across
the floor. All down the street people, like newborn hamsters, naked and
shouting, were being expelled from their homes.
happening?” I asked.
my Dad yelled, fish white body darkling with black hair in the bare sun. “It’s
all just doing it.”
poorly articulated, he had a point. Everything was simply doing what it was
intended for, nothing more. Our house's clapboards and formerly sinking roof had all
straightened themselves. The couch inside had plumped itself. And my Dad’s den
was spotless, for once, his computer tip-tapping productively away. The house
looked nicer than it ever had. But we were no longer welcome.
living room a newly dusted TV was watching the news on itself. My Dad and I
peeked through the bay windows from the backyard. The camera
equipment over in New York was doing a fine job, with the microphone sounding
crisp and clear and the camera framing the shots just right. The show was
really entertaining, a perfect mix of humor, professionalism and introspection
about the morning’s surprising events. In totality, it was better than any group
of people had ever put on.
that all the guns had shot themselves. All missiles, grenades, mortars and even
nuclear bombs met up in the middle of the pacific and blew each other up. The
markets were soaring as money shrewdly invested itself or spent itself on
mostly assets with a few, fun casual liabilities mixed in. New technologies were
inventing themselves while commercials wrote and directed themselves so that new
products could buy and use themselves.
Simply put, all us people had
nothing to do.
kitchen window we watched our food cook itself to perfection, plate and
dispose of itself.
“We’re going to the woods,” my
father concluded. And to the woods we went.
On our way out of town we saw pens scribbling heartfelt,
perfect stories under their own volition. The materials for concrete climbed
from the earth around us, mixed themselves and with the help of steamrollers
and backhoes rolled out perfect new streets. The formerly low buildings
of downtown Simsbury were already demolishing themselves and building themselves anew at random. It was clockwork the world over.
Most people we met looked shocked,
some terrified. Everybody wondered aloud why it had happened. Why everything we’d
ever endeavored to create had suddenly found no use for its own creators. We
didn’t talk much about how nicely they were all performing, though. Why add
insult to injury?
From up on the promontory next to
our house where the Hublein Tower sits we could see people streaming from town,
eddies of beige and brown. The cities of the world were probably in chaos. Of course, there was a lot of strife
among humanity, everyone being forced from civilization and all, but it didn’t
take too long for the majority to die away. It was only days before we began to
spot people’s remains, behind bushes or by the road, burying themselves in the dirt.
“Look,” my Dad said. “I made a
weapon.” He held up a sharpened stick that promptly bent, broke and stabbed
itself into unusable splinters. Luckily, fires made themselves in the woods and
though animals turned out to be too hard to catch without tools, we made due with tubers,
fungi, rainwater and roots — my Dad had been a mountain guide in his
Now, it’s been two years of
foraging in the woods and huddling for warmth. The air is already
clearer, though the sunsets are less brilliant. My
Dad and I don’t do much but sit in our filthy mountain cave, watching our
former world expand and perfect itself. Rockets of unimaginable size light the sky morning
and night, searching out new worlds. Buildings stretch across the horizon,
lavish architecture of stunning materials. We wish we could be a part of it.
Everybody left does. But we also have come to a kind of peace, knowing that us
people will at least be remembered in history books that will no doubt write
themselves, unbiased and pure accounts of humanity’s brief existence and the dreams
it strove for but could never achieve.
As good as New York (but not New York’s best).
My brother and I went and both guessed a full cheese pie would
be around $18. It was $12. And it fed a virile family of four. Very pleasing.
Traditional Italian Pizza Place Attacked With Comic
Really, this place has vintage Marvel and DC comic memorabilia
everywhere. Pages laminated into the tables, comic book art on the walls.
It’s cool. I like it.
It’s solid service. Takeout is quite fast. Dining in has always
been a breeze.
EAT OR SKIP:
Little City proves that Connecticut’s pizza can stand
toe-to-toe with New York City’s classic thin-crust icon. However, with New
York’s recent proliferation of bespoke, artisanal, gourmet pizza shops in the
past decade or so, I can’t say it is the best slice of pizza I have ever put
past my lips (then again that slice cost me twice as much and I got -2 times
the pizza). However again, if you’re looking for a classic NYC-style pie
Little City is the only city you’ll need to visit.
LITTLE CITY'S INFO:
Simsbury Town Shops Shopping Center
926 Hopmeadow St.
Simsbury, CT 06070
LANDSCAPE IMAGE C/O FLICKR USER Muffinman71xx