Cold as it is, it cannot but be of metal. Thin as it is, it cannot but be a crayon box. Large as it is, it cannot but contain forty-eight crayon, to say the least. Good. What else? Shake it and you get a shuffled jazzy sound. Sniff it only if you want to be balked. Hold it and you can feel the world in it, bubbling and crackling to get out. Now it's time to open it. Look, here they are, arranged in the order their manufacturer chose, tint after tint, shade after shade, ready to cast their matter onto your page in violent contrasts or subtle accords, at your will. Your new crayons. Are you ready to play the part of God in your flat, blank universe? Have you got the nerve to pour yourself in it? Can you feel the tingling of inspiration mounting to your drawing hand? Go, then, have a try.