If a leather-clad minotaur drove a confectionary truck through a wildflower meadow and the front doors of the Smithsonian, this is what the night manager would find. Honeysuckle parchment scrolls, vanilla flower fossils, black licorice chain mail, candied plum butterfly pavilion, razor-sharp graphite katanas, Molasses fountain pen ink, linen-wrapped space rocks, and the lingering image of a half-man-half-bull wearing Honest Abe’s top hat.
