Solomon King saw her by candle. The light gleamed past her shoulder, covered by a green robe. Her auburn hair tickled her cream neckline, and he could see just half her visage in the darkness. His hand reached for her face; her green eyes reflected the glow of the fire. Slowly he traced his finger down her face, past her lips, past her neck, and towards her breast. His hand slipped under her robe and gently he began to slide it off. As her robe slipped off her nipple, Solomon felt his chest tighten, and a swift kick in his gut winded him. Bright light pierced his vision; the night turned to day, and he found himself looking into the eyes of a mutt.
	“Solomon I gotta go,” said the dog.
	“Munchie please,” groaned Solomon. “It’s Saturday, give me awhile longer.”
	Munchie began to whine as he sat pressing down on Solomon.
	“Solomon please…”
	Solomon King rose. Munchie leapt down and sat sweeping his tail on the floor.  Solomon swung his bare legs over the edge of his bed, massaging his face as he tried to piece together his dream. He focused his imagination on the coveted nipple, trying to finish what his dream-self had started.  His clock radio chimed in,
	“Cheer up Solomon. You got in a good extra hour today. It’s seven on a Saturday and overcast. Give the dog a break, and drink in the Spirit of Radio.”
	A guitar started crackling through the monotone speaker, as Solomon sat weighing the difference between stepping outside, and mopping the floor. Bouncing off his bed, he got to his feet, swinging his arms as he psyched himself against the day. He threw on a sweater, slipped on his moccasins, and then struggled to put on his sweat pants through his shoed feet. Munchie had trotted off and returned with some doggie bags. Solomon took the bags from Munchie, swiped his keys from his table, slapped the clock radio, and Getty’s warbling was cut-off with a squawk of pain.
	They stepped out of his tiny apartment, as his neighbour did the same. He looked over at her, in her black jacket, shapely jeans, auburn hair down to her shoulders, and lovely cream coloured skin, and eked out a smile. Her cheek sort of nudged in a half-canceled smile, and she walked to the elevator. Solomon and Munchie took the stairs. Outside, as Munchie assumed the position on the road, Solomon tried to merge the flick of her cheek onto the visage of his dream.
	They returned together to his apartment, Munchie with a jaunty trot, and Solomon trailing behind.
	“Morning Sol.” said the fridge as he opened the door. “No milk pal, blame yourself.” as he shut it.
	“Tea or coffee King Solomon?” said the stove as Solomon put on a pot of water. If he could punch it in the gut for the same joke everyday, he would.
	“Burnt the bread again Sol. Careful with the knob next time,” said the toaster.
	“Listen toaster, you and I both know it’s set to the middle.” The toaster hacked a grating chuckle, as Solomon scratched butter onto his toast with a knife. He sat at the small dinner table stirring his instant coffee and sugar with a spoon, daydreaming about how his life would be if the auburn beauty would say “yes” to him.
Munchie came to join him with a newspaper between his teeth. He hopped up onto a chair opposite to Solomon, and carefully, with his paws, he spread open the paper. It was the same paper Munchie had been pretending to read for a month. When it becomes too tattered, he swaps it for a new one. He lowers his snout close to the page and pretends to scan diligently. Then after a moment, he leans back in triumph with a little doggy smile.
“The economy is getting worse.” He said sagaciously and all the appliances agreed.
“It says that now is not the time for getting married, and you should let things take their natural course, and instead of trying to flip day stocks in this climate, you should let things play out. After all, a peak will always follow a trough.” All the appliances chimed in with agreement though they did not understand. Even the clock radio from across the room beeped out its concordance with the wise dog. But Solomon wasn’t listening. He was still stirring his coffee trying to align the proportions of the girl in his dream, and the one in real life. Munchie’s tail sagged. Munchie thought he must have said his words in the wrong order, because truthfully, even he didn’t know what he had said, but he had hoped it would cheer up his friend.
Munchie perked his ears, at the approach of footsteps outside. He leapt from the chair and began barking at the door. Solomon stood as he heard the knock, and went to answer it.
“Good morning Mr. King.” said the man at the door. He was dressed in a navy blue pinstripe suit. “My name is Dennis Evil” he said and he held out his hand, with a clear white smile, the kind where you can only see the top row of teeth. Solomon’s tired eyes matched the black in black of Dennis’. Dennis had the kind of eyes that are always half closed, and his hair was gelled back. Munchie was whining, and pulled at Solomon’s sweatpants.
“Don’t shake his hand Solomon, he’s evil. I can see it, and smell it, and it’s in his name for goodness sake.”
“Listen to the dog Sol, the logic checks out.” chipped in the toaster.
“You’d have to be a real moron to not shut the door right now,” yelled the fridge.
Dennis stood like a statue, his hand outstretched, and his porcelain smile rigid with pleasantness. While the household clamoured behind him, Solomon heard a little voice in head, which when it spoke, all the din around him dimmed and he could hear it clearly.
“Aren’t you just tired of it all Solomon King?”
Solomon shook Dennis’ hand, and Dennis strode across the threshold. The apartment went quiet as he stood in the center surveying everything around him with his hands clasping his suite jacket.
“Bit of a sad place isn’t it Mr. King?”
The appliances all began shouting at once but Solomon replied,
“Yes. Yes it really is,” and they were all silenced.
“I’ve something for you Mr. King,” said Dennis. He stepped outside and a moment later he carried in a large blue cube. Its presence made Munchie cower and shiver. Dennis dropped the Cube on top of Solomon’s dinner table, with Solomon’s breakfast still on it, and the table passed right through, leaving only the Cube sitting on the floor.
“I don’t understand,” said Solomon. Dennis winked, and replied,
“Go ahead Mr. King. Reach into the side of the Cube with both hands.” Solomon did as he was told and he pulled out a chair. Not his chair, but a newer, better chair.
“Now Mr. King. Reach into the top over here and see what you find.” Solomon reached into the top, and pulled out a fine plate with a piece of fresh buttered toast. He reached in again, and pulled out a cup of fresh expresso. He reached in once more, and pulled out a vase with a red tulip.
“It doesn’t end there Mr. King, or can I call you Sol? Everyone else seems to, and we’re pals now aren’t we?”
“Not really but go ahead.”
“That’s great Sol, here pass me some bread will you?” Solomon took a slice from the counter and gave it to Dennis.
“Got any eggs?”
Sol went to the fridge, but the door wouldn’t budge.
“You’ll have these eggs over my rusted corpse you bastard. I’d rather watch you starve than see you fall for the tricks of this conman,” spat out the fridge, and the clock radio played some grainy Tom Sawyer through its speaker in solidarity.
“Problem with the fridge? “Dennis walked over and opened the door with ease. He took out a carton of eggs and lobbed one into the cube.
“How do you want them Sol?”
“Poached if you can.” Dennis picked up a plate and dipped it into the cube like he was filling a bowl from a river, but instead of water, out came a perfect poached egg on a slice of toast.
“Bon appetit Sol.” Solomon spread the yolk over the bread, cut a piece, and ate it with a knife and fork. It wasn’t bad, a little short on salt and pepper, but not bad at all.
“How’s it all work?” asked Solomon.
“Come on Sol, you don’t ask how the toaster, the stove, or the fridge work do you? Electricity goes in and it works! Two D batteries, fully rechargeable, and included free of charge! Here’s another pair when you have to swap.”
“Thanks Dennis. I guess it would be hypocritical to begin questioning things now wouldn’t it?”
Dennis winked with the same porcelain smile he had since he arrived at the door.
“I’m glad you see it my way Sol. You’ll find my Cube to be quite the inspirational thing. Liberating even, from the toils of daily routine. Imagine all the time you’ll have for productivity, for art, music, learning, and” Dennis leaned in close to Solomon, “love. If that’s everything Sol, I’ll be on my way. If you don’t mind, I’d like to visit you again in one week to see if you’re satisfied.”
Dennis strode across the apartment, opened the door, and spoke over his shoulder.
“Have a nice week Solomon King,” and he left.
All at once the rabble of appliances started shouting over each other. Their criticism became a slurry of noises in Solomon’s head, as he mulled over his new appliance. Over the din he heard a timid voice quite clearly.
“Solomon,” said Munchie, “there’s something very strange about this Cube and the person who gave it to you. He hasn’t even told you how much it will cost, or his number, or the side effects, or anything. Solomon, there’s something very strange about this Cube, and that man. I think you should return it as soon as possible.”
The whole apartment chimed in with hearty agreement. Even the television had turned on and crackled its sentiments. The cellphone, the laptop, hell the miniature blender from his kitchen drawer, all spoke their peace like it was a town hall meeting.
“So, you agree? The cube must go?”
“Yes!”
“Instead, I have to suffer you all.”
“Yes” this time the chorus had a tinge of uncertainty.
“That wasn’t a question,” Solomon said, and the household fell silent.
“Solomon.” started Munchie, “Solomon we can’t choose for you, but Solomon we only want the best for you. We’re in this together Solomon, everything in this apartment, we’re all in it together.”
The dishwasher yelled,
“To hell with the mutt, it’s either us or the Cube Solomon now get rid of it.”
“Please,” said Munchie, “please we can all get along here.”
“The Cube must die!” announced the dryer and the washer simultaneously from their closet. Solomon looked Munchie in his watery eyes.
“You’re right pal, we’re in this together.” Without hesitation Solomon walked to the toaster and yanked out the cord. The toaster’s surprise died with a guttural gurgle, as all its energy bled out in an instant.
“Solomon no!” Cried Munchie, and he began frantically pacing.
Solomon turned to the stove, and dragged it forward.
“No Sol! We can talk this out!” Solomon grabbed the heavy duty plug. He struggled for a moment as it was tightly secured, and all the while the stove shrieked from the depths of its hollow oven. Its final scream choked in its bowels as the power was cut.
He moved methodically from one appliance to the next. The washer and dryer died huddled in the closet. The television went with a pop as it pleaded for mercy. The laptop died on its face with its batteries torn out. The clock radio was snuffed as it bleated an acidic What a Wonderful World. The miniature blender, who thought it was safe in the kitchen drawer, had the batteries slapped out of it. The dishwasher foamed as its plug was yanked.
Solomon turned to the fridge. He opened the door without resistance, and quietly moved all the food into the Cube. When he finished, Solomon reached behind the fridge.
“You really have nothing to say to me?” Solomon asked.
“I hope a vending machine crushes you and your stupid dog.” With that, Solomon unplugged the fridge. Its motors died, and all the house was quiet.
“Solomon, what have you done?” Munchie asked sadly, when the massacre had finished.
“Just getting a little peace and quiet.” Solomon sat down at the Cube, and continued his breakfast. He pressed the top of the Cube, and a rerun of his favourite show started playing on the surface.
“I have a feeling things’ll be just fine Munchie.” But Munchie wasn’t convinced and he curled up on the floor and stayed there for the entire day.
Saturday passed, and Solomon stayed inside and watched programs on the Cube. On Sunday, he did his laundry. He dipped his clothes in the Cube and scooped them out clean and ironed. Monday morning the Cube woke him with some cool contemporary jazz. Tuesday he put in a frozen dinner and it was ready in ten seconds.
	¨Oy, Munchie. What’s the matter pal? ¨ Solomon asked as he dug into his hamburger steak. Munchie had been lying curled up on the floor since Saturday. It was Solomon who would coax him into going outside in the morning, and when they returned Munchie would go back to lying in a ball. It was Solomon who would place his bowl next to him, so that he could eat and drink while he lay on the floor, curled like a snake. Never sleeping; always with his eyes open and unblinking.
	¨Munchie?”
	“I’m sorry Solomon. I was thinking.”
	“Well cut it out and have a piece of this salisbury steak. You’ve been lying there for days and it’s starting to freak me out.”
	“Thank you Solomon, but I am thinking. I am thinking about a way to save you Solomon, but I’m only a dog, and thinking is very difficult. I have to spend all my time thinking hard Solomon, if I have a chance of saving you.”
	“You don’t need to save me Munchie. I’ve never been happier than I am now.” Munchie said nothing. He lay curled on the floor and continued his meditation.
	On Wednesday, Solomon and Munchie ran into their neighbour again. Munchie went straight to her and begged for a pat on the head.
	“Cute dog” she said, and there was a smile that Solomon could use for his daydreams.
Thursday, Solomon sat at the Cube, typing on its surface, trying to write something that would make him famous. He gave up soon and spent the evening masturbating. He ate half a pint of ice cream afterwards and went to sleep early.
On Friday, he tried writing again after returning from work, and found he had nothing to write. He watched reruns on the Cube and heated another frozen dinner. It was Friday, so Solomon thought he would stay up longer, but by eleven, the weight of his aimlessness fell heavily on his eyelids and Solomon fell asleep on the Cube.
Saturday: there was a knock on the door, and Munchie mobilized for the first time in a long time. He opened the door and in stepped Mr. Dennis Evil.
Dennis slapped Solomon on the back, waking him from his sleep.
“Solomon! How are you my friend!”
“God damn it Dennis, how the fuck did you even get in here?” Solomon had been in the middle of another dream with his now smiling neighbour, and he had almost managed to get the robe off her this time.
“Just checking in on my favourite customer. How are you finding my Cube?”
“S’aright, but how did you get in here?”
“Well, someone opened the door Sol. I thought it was you.” Solomon looked past Dennis and saw Munchie sitting happily by the door.
“Alright well, the Cube is good and I’ll be keeping it, so how much will it be?” Dennis shook his head, and Munchie started pacing again in distress. Munchie thought he was giving Solomon a second chance to return the Cube. If a dog could smack itself, Munchie would have done it.
“Sol, the Cube is free! Don’t you know? I’m a philanthropist Sol, I only want the best for people. I’m trying to make a better world Sol, the kind where everyone has a Cube, my Cube, and it’ll do everything for everyone Sol. It’ll be like a paradise, no more dishes, no more cooking, no more housework. No more work! All day every day the Cube will do it all. Life will be so easy, you can’t help but lie down and take a nap. Every day can be a lazy Sunday Sol! Wouldn’t that be great?”
“Yeah I guess, but I’m not really doing anything with my time you know? I don’t know why but I’ve been really lonely lately. This Cube changes the whole game, but god damn I kinda wish it could talk or something. I kinda wish it could do more.”
Dennis nodded sympathetically, and put his arm around Solomon. His signature smile was still on his face. It contrasted with his, dark, waterless eyes.
“I know exactly what you mean Sol. You wish it could solve all your problems, material, immaterial, divine, personal, everything.” and he drew closer to Solomon and whispered in his ear,
`”and it can Sol, all you have to do is step inside.”
“That’s great Dennis but can you not whisper in my ear like that? I mean we’re two guys, and I don’t know what it is, but your breath is like you ate a pack of mints Dennis. It’s like a cold shower in my ear. How the hell do you do that?”
Dennis drew back.
“It’s a trade secret Sol. I can’t be giving everything away for free now can I?” He patted Solomon on the shoulder.
“I’ll be going now Sol. If ever you need something, just give me a ring.” With a final nod, he went to leave, but faithful Munchie was blocking the door with his teeth bared.
“Too late mutt, Solomon King is already gone.” and as Munchie turned to look at where Solomon had been, Dennis slipped narrowly through the door like a snake.
Munchie stood by the Cube,
“Solomon, you jackass. You couldn’t return the stupid box, and I couldn’t stop that slick haired bastard from leaving. But I’ve got a plan, I’ve been making it all week, and I’m going to make things right again Solomon.” Munchie picked up his newspaper, and he put it into the cube. After a moment he stuck his head in and pulled out an envelope. He took the envelope and trotted out of the apartment with it.
	Solomon King had climbed into the Cube and found himself in a world very much like the one he had left. He was in his apartment with the Cube and everything was as he had left it, although the morning had turned to night. He touched the walls and his face; everything felt the same. He dipped his hand into the Cube and pulled out a piece of cake. He took a bite, and the taste of buttery cream and soft filling flooded his mouth. It was just like the one he got on his birthday last year. His office had pitched in to buy it, but the HR director had a heart attack the same day, and fell over onto it. She was the one who made the order, and Having been deceased, it was then impossible to find where it came from, and impolite to sneak a second slice from under her corpse for one last taste. Solomon King had not forgotten that first slice.
	 He reached in again and pulled out a piece of chicken. Munchie and Solomon had been walking down the street when they stopped in front of a house. The smell of chicken basting in butter, honey, and spices had put a spell on them. They stood there savouring the smell until Solomon noticed the family staring at him through the window. He waved and walked on.  But now, Solomon took a bite of that chicken, and it fell apart perfectly in his mouth. The skin was coated with a sweet chili sauce, and the butter had seeped into the succulent meat. He had not forgotten that smell.
	For a while Solomon sat by the Cube, trying all the food and drink he could imagine, when he heard a knock on the door. He went to answer it, and there was the auburn beauty, in her black coat and tight jeans.
	“May I come in?” She asked.
	“Sure thing…. Carla?”
	Solomon realised he had no idea what her name was, but she looked like a Carla. She responded to the name Carla, because as he opened the door wide for her she strode inside and sat down at the cube. Solomon produced a candle from the Cube and placed it on the top. Then he produced two plates of chicken linguini, the kind he had once at a restaurant, with a date who disappeared when the check arrived. They ate. Solomon started on a stream of consciousness, and Carla clung to every word, punctuating his thoughts with her laughter.
Solomon pulled out more cake for dessert, and a bottle of wine like the one his co-worker had given him for Christmas, which he managed to finish in one night and subsequently woke in a pool of red vomit the next day. Solomon didn’t think much of wine but he thought it was a romantic image, so he pulled out two wine glasses, and repositioned his chair so that he was sitting closer to Carla. They ate in silence, but he could feel her hand stroking his leg and he returned the gesture. At last, they finished, and Solomon pulled from the Cube, a case of mints in a little metal box, the kind he liked to buy at the super market. They both ate one, and Carla stood up. She unzipped her jacket, and underneath she wore a long green robe tucked into her jeans. She pulled down her jeans and stood in front of Solomon by the candle light. He removed her robe, finally uncovering his coveted treasure, and he took her hand and led her to his bed, where he undressed himself, and he went in. Like a parched man at an oasis. Like a fat guy at an all-you-can-eat.  Like a V8 engine, all pistons unleashed, shifting into top gear and sucking in air at 220mph to fuel the combustion. Once, twice, thrice, four times that night he came back to back like it was his last day on Earth. At the end of it all he rolled over like a mutt, and passed out with Carla on his chest.