So I looked both ways at a one-way street before crossing it.
It swore it would have its revenge on me and I said shut-up-you-can’t-talk-you’re-a-street and I, in order for the plot to progress without any pointless asides of considerable length and no unnecessary gramatically-confusing tautology or repetition, I moved on. I went on my way, the Blackway, to be exact and to simultaneously stimulate a philologist’s fetish for phonics.
I couldn’t arrive There without a Bus, so I had to take it. With me.
Initially, it felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, but then I said to myself it’s-only-the-weight-of-this-bus-you-idiot. As I lugged the heavy red Beast, I thought I heard it vomiting what was presumably its feast for the day- known as its Passengers. Then I looked up and saw that my thoughts were accurate. It vomited at an alarming rate of 3 PPOOMF (Passengers Per One Of My Footsteps), thus concluding the notion that I might have psychic powers with an effervescent “Yes!”
Or the notion that my sensory faculties were just as intact as they normally are.
Anyway, it was clear that I was giving the poor Beast indigestion, so I said, “Hey there, Beast, just hang in there, we’re nearly at the Blackway. There you can re-feast, re-vomit and re-re-feast as much as you please.” Then the Bus honked (translation: growled) and I thought I heard a Passenger yell something like what-about-us-you-old-fool, but I neither know for sure nor care what he (or she- for I am not sexist) said because they do not come into this part of the story; and it is my duty to keep the element of foreshadowing contained in that Passenger’s angry yell under Pandora’s Box-esque wraps.
Anyway, I continued to ignore the poor Passengers and reassure the old Beast until he coughed up an object that was not a Passenger. I caught it, and it had the words: SIX DOWN SODA on it, precisely as the author of this tale has written.
I did not understand the message this vomit-can had attempted to convey, but I’d have been darned if I didn’t at least try and find out.
This is where the tale begins. Now, now, the loose ends shall be tied up later…
Chinua Achebe- Things Fall Apart