Turn back. No through street. Dead end. Stop. (*Crash* *Crunch* *sound of tinkling glass*).
Hi. Could you give me a hand with righting some wrongs, or at least with righting my outhouse, which you just knocked over with your reckless browsing?
Thanks. *Phew*, yeah. Too bad about that headlamp. I know a guy, he’ll fix it for you cheap.
OK, you’re puzzled, you want to know where you are and what the hell I’m doing here. I can understand that.
The deal is, there’s a lotta crap out there. A lotta crap. And no ponies underneath, believe me, I checked.
However, when scrutinized thoroughly and in the right spirit, a skilled individual may detect patterns in the crap, messages from the gods about how things might yet twist and turn on this mortal coil, about how events might take routes faintly reminiscent (and certainly redolent) of the intestinal passage by which the crap reached us.
Hold your nose, lean over, poke the flashlight down the dark pit, I promise I won’t push ….