Crashes and shrieks and ticking and bubble-wrap induced explosions set to the backdrop of a gentle hum. Up she walked, around she turned, struck dumb she was and there she stood: glistening in the sun, a fistful of notes, a buck for Happy Hour and a face to dock a thousand ships.
The tune carried her to lanes leading to a path leading to a gate leading to a garden leading to an orchard leading to a field leading to a pin head; here butterflies fly, they fly high. Watch out for all those magenta antelopes- oh I do like it here! “But you gotta be careful”, they told her- he leant down to whisper “they’re just food for the skyblue lions”.