Hall of Infinite Doors
The red lights shine luminously in the snowfall, and you feel drawn towards them, almost hypnotized. After walking for a bit, you realize that there are others going in your direction. Their coat collars are turned up and almost every one of them has hidden his face under some sort of hat. It's almost like they don't want to be recognizedÂ…
You find yourself taking a right turn, guided by the red lights and an especially crimson street sign that reads: "Drury Lane: Home of the Famous Muffin Man". The trickle of people has now grown into a crowd, a sea of hats bobbing up and down outside a pair of large wooden double doors. Above these doors is mounted a huge backlit sign with scripted, glowing golden letters proclaiming, "Marvelous Muffinman's Burlesque and Bakery!" A narrow path leading along the side of the old building ends at a blinking neon sign that reads, "Bakery". Your powers of deduction lead you to conclude that you are now waiting outside the "Burlesque" portion of this Marvelous Muffinman's establishment.
One of the heavy wooden doors opens a crack and a thin, sickly-looking gingerbread man dressed in a frosting tuxedo peers anxiously out at the crowd.
"The house is now open!" he proclaims in a high nasal voice. "First-come, first-serve seating. No seating afterÂ…" but his voice is lost in the air as the crowd, suddenly rowdy and excited, pushes past him and you are swept along into the lobby. Proceeding past the house doors, you find yourself in a magnificent old theatre. A worn red carpet lines the gently sloping aisles among rows of plush red velvet seats. Looking up, you see a deserted balcony outlined by scratched woodwork and punctuated with a series of huge black spotlights that send dusty beams of light down to the stage. There is a smoky, electrical smell in the air, highlighted by an almost sweet scent that you guess might be coming from the bakery next door. You are pushed down an aisle somewhere in the middle of the theatre and you take your seat on one of those deceptively full cushions, which almost immediately flattens down to its wooden support. In an instant, the theatre is full and you can hear that same nasaly voice shouting, "No more admittance! Balcony closed! No more admittance!" Looking around, you see that most of the audience is composed of gingerbread men, though here and there you see some wooden-looking fellows in uniform and also a handful of unidentified individuals, all of whom look rather edible to you. No one pays much attention to you and in fact the house has become suddenly very quiet as you all wait in a nervous state of suspended anticipation. Finally, the house lights dim, and a lone spotlight illuminates the center of the stage, where a microphone stands ready...
You find yourself taking a right turn, guided by the red lights and an especially crimson street sign that reads: "Drury Lane: Home of the Famous Muffin Man". The trickle of people has now grown into a crowd, a sea of hats bobbing up and down outside a pair of large wooden double doors. Above these doors is mounted a huge backlit sign with scripted, glowing golden letters proclaiming, "Marvelous Muffinman's Burlesque and Bakery!" A narrow path leading along the side of the old building ends at a blinking neon sign that reads, "Bakery". Your powers of deduction lead you to conclude that you are now waiting outside the "Burlesque" portion of this Marvelous Muffinman's establishment.
One of the heavy wooden doors opens a crack and a thin, sickly-looking gingerbread man dressed in a frosting tuxedo peers anxiously out at the crowd.
"The house is now open!" he proclaims in a high nasal voice. "First-come, first-serve seating. No seating afterÂ…" but his voice is lost in the air as the crowd, suddenly rowdy and excited, pushes past him and you are swept along into the lobby. Proceeding past the house doors, you find yourself in a magnificent old theatre. A worn red carpet lines the gently sloping aisles among rows of plush red velvet seats. Looking up, you see a deserted balcony outlined by scratched woodwork and punctuated with a series of huge black spotlights that send dusty beams of light down to the stage. There is a smoky, electrical smell in the air, highlighted by an almost sweet scent that you guess might be coming from the bakery next door. You are pushed down an aisle somewhere in the middle of the theatre and you take your seat on one of those deceptively full cushions, which almost immediately flattens down to its wooden support. In an instant, the theatre is full and you can hear that same nasaly voice shouting, "No more admittance! Balcony closed! No more admittance!" Looking around, you see that most of the audience is composed of gingerbread men, though here and there you see some wooden-looking fellows in uniform and also a handful of unidentified individuals, all of whom look rather edible to you. No one pays much attention to you and in fact the house has become suddenly very quiet as you all wait in a nervous state of suspended anticipation. Finally, the house lights dim, and a lone spotlight illuminates the center of the stage, where a microphone stands ready...