Once upon a time, there was a man named Brock. Brock always wanted to build a cubby-house for his little boy. He wanted it to be high up in a perfect tree, and he wanted it to be grand. Sadly though, Brock and his boy lived in a high density apartment building with no garden of their own and such a dream was just that - a dream. So one night after his son had gone to bed, Brock set to work with the most perfect stem of broccoli he could find in his fridge. He planned and he carved and he cut and he glued, all night long until the sun came over the horizon out his 11th floor window. Just as the boy woke up and sleepily wandered out of his room, Brock completed his task. He presented the miniature cubby-house to his son with tear-filled eyes, for in building this gift, he also fulfilled a dream....
Well, that's the story I'd like to believe is behind this clever creation. The man who made it really is named Brock (ironically), and he did build it for his son because he couldn't build a real one, but that's where the truth of my story ends. Somehow I like my version better... I like to fill in the gaps...
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