Picture a giant cardboard box lined with foam sheets and a hundred tiny gears that whir whenever someone pokes at the lid. Inside, a little landscape of hills made from shredded paper, a pond of glittering water where the fish are just marbles, and a village of plastic dolls that pop up on command. I’d wire tiny LED lights to their windows so the streets glow at night, and attach a tiny speaker that blares a kazoo version of “The Lilliputian March” whenever the villagers get together. Every time someone drops a coin on the floor, it would tumble down a miniature ramp, and the whole thing would be controlled by a simple microcontroller that I’d program while spilling coffee everywhere. The result would be a chaotic, ever‑shifting tiny world that feels alive even though it’s all in a dusty box on my desk.