At 5:37PM on the last day of the universe, Space was having a conversation with Time about pizza. All they did these days was talk; they had delegated most of the work to the Three Dimensions and the Past, Present and Future. They sat in two stools on either side of God’s empty throne covered in Post-Its of prayers. Little black Entropies scurried aimlessly around the room, like Munchkins of soot.
“New York,” Space said. “I mean, New York. Hands down.”
“No, Chicago pizza has the best crust,” Time replied. “Di-vine.”
This argument continued until 5:59 PM, when they both felt a tickle that they hadn’t felt since their creation.
“We have at least a couple billion years left in our contract!” Time wailed, pulling out his contract. He pointed to a section. “Look! ‘Heat death will occur 147 quadrillion, 620 trillion, 42 million and 2 years after creation.’”
Space snatched the contract and examined it carefully.
“We forgot to read the fine print.” Entropy flooded the room, and everything became still.