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Mkwror!
With nary a fuss, and little more sense, he bustled out the door, and down the street. A light rain fell on all and sundry, making certain sections of the tarmac quite slippery, indeed, which the city council had recently had a very long and very drawn out meeting concerning the safety and good form of allowing their fine citizenry to scuttle about every two days or so of the week when it rained sufficiently enough for the pavement to become slick, yet not hard enough for the rainfall to wash the oily slick that made the tarmac so treacherous to the moral and actual upstanding nature of their citizenry (citizens lying prone in the gutter assumed to be both morally prone and, as is obvious, actually prone, lying down on the job, one might say, should they find themselves wanting for something to say and desperately wanting to impress the attractive young person they'd been fantasising about impressing with their wit and wisdom for the duration of the last five minutes or so), the conclusion of which was that the neighbouring city of P**** allowed their citizenry to walk about on a slick city streets that also happened to be very poorly kept free of dog waste, so, in their estimation, they were slightly ahead of the game, and would be willing to suffer the sight of the occasional prone citizen in the gutter, and quickly issued a press release about the poor state of P****ian streets, and their own streets' comparative cleanliness and safety.
He was on his way to the market, to see about procuring some asparagus, which one normally doesn't get a craving for, but, in this one rather special case, he had.
And he made it to the market and back, with asparagus well in hand as he bustled wetly through the door, shook his coat off, and draped it on a kitchen chair.
Had he known the council's decision, he might have slipped on the streets to the market, or at least walked a little more recklessly, as he wasn't one to stand for politicians playing those sorts of games.
disclaimer:
Whilst not landing in a foreign city, I am sitting at home. Lucky beyond all belief, all right, really.
England's left the heat on for me these last couple of weeks, there's a brand new duvet on the bed, and I'm sitting in the living room, finishing off a Sane Magazine issue.
After having just had an absolutely wonderful conversation about chicken-eating trolls, bridge-building chickens, the potential that chickens are simply lazy ducks, and the myriad of possibilities for the group. Thank the horoscope writer.
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Yer Weekly Horoscopes. Stick a chicken in your hat!