fuckpickle
I thanked the bartender for the food and soda, paid my tab, and left. I took a right.I rounded the corner next to the art shop and walked down the alley to my trusty shitbox of a car.
On the way, as I was walking over some broken pieces of sidewalk, I heard someone say "Splthp?". I realized that the sidewalk had said that.
The rain was picking up, and I was getting wet, but I stood there on the sidewalk and stepped on each different broken piece to hear what it had to say.
Splurt, splish, splorsh.
I rocked back and forth in an Elvis pose as two joggers bounced by me, giving me the look. You know the look.
"What the hell are you doing?"
On the other hand, they were jogging in the fucking rain and I was only entertaining myself with pieces of a broken sidewalk which were lying half-submerged in a puddle, so there you go.
Splish, splort.
A bum walked up and said "How you doin', big bruh?"
I said "Fine", got in my car, and left. I drove past people running to get out of the rain and a drugstore with a door whose radar eyes told it to keep opening over and over again even though no one was walking in.
Since the door was incapable of thought, I thought for it: "PEOPLE! OPEN!"
"OKAY CLOSE. WAIT HOLY SHIT PEOPLE, OPEN"
"OKAY CLOSE"
"FUCKPICKLE, MORE PEOPLE, OPEN AGAIN!"
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