The world didn't just get darker; it got sharper. The glare off the cars in the street vanished, replaced by a crisp, cinematic clarity. He walked outside, the sun finally losing its battle against his retinas. For the price of a few pizzas, he had reclaimed the outdoors. Arthur smiled, adjusted the bridge of his new favorite possession, and finally saw the world for what it was: a much better deal than he’d expected.
He picked a pair of retro aviators for twenty-nine dollars. "Including shipping," he whispered, hitting the buy button with a mix of hope and dread.
Ten days later, a flimsy bubble mailer arrived. Arthur braced himself for plastic that would snap like a toothpick. Instead, he pulled out a sturdy, matte-black case. He slipped the glasses on.
