It's Sunday morning. Manhattanites are putting on their best, grabbing the children and heading for a place of worship.
That's right kiddies, it's time to go to the Apple Store. Broadway and 68th. The word "pristine" was invented for this place. It might even be called the "Pristine Chapel". Plenty of glass, none of it stained.
Centrepiece, not a cross, but a glorious white apple with a chunk taken out. - Subliminal messages about the garden of Eden, but not a serpent or a nude person anywhere in sight. This is paradise, with roundy ball seats to sit down on.
Once inside, you're greeted by an acolyte in blue. "Hi, have you got questions?" And you almost feel like responding, "who made the world?" but you know the reply, delivered with unshakeable certainty, will be "Steve Jobs".
Below stairs, that's where all the serious stuff is taken care of. Quiet conversations about IOS (a technological variation on IHS) and meaningful exchanges about your iLife.
There are no tills, no visible signs of money being spirited away. It's a silent collection in digital form, ones and zeros leaving your bank account and quietly flapping their way to Cupertino, Apple HQ.
"Hi, have you got questions?"
"Yeah, how do I get out of here?"
The acolyte nods towards the glass stairway to heaven. You see the souls with their pristine (again) purchases ascending, and you join them.