On the perimeter, shoulders and toes are knocked off by
helpless standers. Constipated commuting-units strangle the otherwise healthy
city. “It’s not really a city without such strangulation,” they protest. It's soon
time to be reunited with my shoulder. However, my toes, I'm afraid,
will be admitted no recovery time; the big, blue Japanese has not seen the last of me today. Clunky but necessary, I guess. Helpful constipated
commuting-units, these, indeed. Ah. Finally, some laxative.
