There he is, the size of a Candy Land piece, right on the ottoman in front of me: teeny, tiny LeBron James. He jets down the Golden State Warriors’ court—sitting flush on the chocolate leather—and dunks in a hoop the size of my wedding band.
No, I haven’t had a psychedelic sandwich for lunch. I’ve just been wearing what looks like a pair of oversize swim goggles, attached to a Discman thingy on my hip—the Magic Leap One Creator Edition.
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