Grabbing my bag of holding, I ventured out to the Treehouse, a far away apartment where my recently-returned friends resided. It was an arduous trek, involving buses spearing off to the great beyond.
After a long, accidentally detour-filled ride, I finally arrived at a cross street near the Treehouse. While traversing the rest of the way on foot, I spotted a near-windowless brick building off to the side. It had a sparse poster that read: Hank Lee’s Magic Factory.
Holy smokes and mirrors!
I just had to see!
After struggling momentarily to find the front entrance, I stepped inside to find a tiny room filled to the brim with curious oddities. There were a vast array of different playing cards behind a display case and a whole slew of strange objects. A man who I presumed to be Hank Lee greeted me. I imagined him to be olde man from the Prestige, knowledgable of the most intricate of tricks. Right on the spot, I planned to spent countless hours perusing the store and conversing with the ingenieur.
Over a feast of mortadella and pickle sandwiches, I shared my exciting discovery with the denizens of the Treehouse. I spoke excitedly about Magic the Hank Lee store while my friends, equally enthusiastic, spoke of Magic the Gathering. We made plans to acquaint ourselves with the purveyor of illusion-y goods as well as enter in the next Friday Night Magic tournament.
I can’t wait!