Who takes a shopping cart home from the supermarket? When does it reach the level of ‘Quest?’ (And who takes a shopping cart home when it isn’t the apocalypse or post-apocalypse?) Who threatens to get in the way? The fifteen year-old charged with wrangling the carts together and returning them to the store, imagining them as millipedes filling the streets as he does so? (Or a set of octopus legs in search of a body?)
The broadsword gently jiggled amongst the apples, apricots, energy bars, plastic-sealed strips of bacon, and jostling pearls tomatoes, amongst many other items he was still trying to place, somewhat incredulous at how certain things had been bagged. His breath moved into the winter air like a messenger pigeon being dispatched in slow motion.
“What, ho!” shouted a traffic cop. “What foolery is this?”
“A simple man taking his possessions back to his abode, good sir.”
The lights had changed. Cars had lurched forward, and — finding themselves blocked by the conversation — began to explore inquisitive honks.
“A simple man taking his simple possessions back to his above, sir? No, sir. The morning lark of our hearts will not declare today the first day of spring.”
“Wha — ”
“Draw your weapon.”
As the two did battle in the street, sword meeting sword, the conversation on the other side of the street ran so:
“What do you think it was? Parking tickets?”
“Could be a particularly great meal that the cop has to prove himself being worthy of being invited to.”
“Are you just going to echo everyth — ”
Across the street, the battle came to a conclusion when a pack of neighborhood dogs, large enough that people would express surprise at not knowing that that large an amount of pets lived in the neighborhood, sensing enormous amounts of food in public, began to chase him down the street, leaving the cop defended his crosswalk.
Under the overpass. Down well-lit streets. The further into the city he progress, the more the initial wave of neighborhood dogs peeled off, one-by-one. Passing through poorly lit streets where…