Tim O’Brien goes up to the counter and orders a drink he calls the “Epistemic Frappe.” The barista double checks the menu. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says, “but that’s not a real drink.”
“How can you know?” O’Brien asks. He seems to pull a microphone from thin air, and with his lips a little too close to the mic he tells everyone in the Starbucks that they’ve just had their minds blown. He drops the mic and exits walking backward, arms extended.
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