The pilgrim and whale king shuffle through the stifling, labyrinthine confines of the subway station. They slowly ascend a set of stairs surrounded by mooing pedestrians who swipe their tails with agitation. The whale king and pilgrim hesitate too long at the security bars of the exit.
The bovines shove and hustle them towards the light. As they emerge from the dark subway station, the brilliant Phoenician hue of the twilight sky sets the skyline of the sunset city in sharp relief. It looks like a post-card, the whale king thinks. A tear forms in his eye.
Meanwhile, the pilgrim inflates a small bubble of pink gum. The globule explodes just as the whale king's gaze is broken by the boisterous honking of horns and the whizzing of relentless city traffic. The cattle moo angrily as the steers (predominantly) steer their vehicles around the whale king's macrocephalian mass.
The heinous traffic finally subsides when the cattle guard is revealed via autonomous machines set to shift with the changing lights of an elaborate traffic-signal. The guard divides the street from the avenue indescribably. For a brief moment the whale king and pilgrim are able to scuttle over to the sidewalk before the cows in the perpendicular cattle chute are released.
The sidewalk is no reprieve from the city's phenomenal pace. Bovines buzz by blithely blowing bubbles beget by bubblegum bought blindly behind brothel-beset boulevards because butts banter bellicose beside brimming billion-dollar bills. You foul minx, alliteration! I thought my rainbow blast destroyed you long ago the whale king mentally mutters to himself as the Cosmic Corpuscular Cattle corral past him.
The whale king and pilgrim stare upward at the Speckled Spiral. The agonizing alliteration of the amorphous (polymorphous?) crowd seems to dissipate as they stare at the spiral.
"A city of great sights..." The pilgrim cheerfully points out to the whale king. The whale king turns and prepares to grin at her CHEERFUL SMILE. Yet, like two beams of an upside-down equilateral triangle being turned right-side up, his eyes shift unconsciously when he gazes at her. Her CHEERFUL SMILE is dramatically twisted into a disgusted grimace. Within moments he knows why. The foul stench of urine burns their noses inaudibly irritating inner-cores. "..and awful smells." She finishes her sentence despite the mouthful of bile.
As she chokes down her disgust, the pilgrim thinks to her self ponderously. What would happen if there were never any corpuscular cows at all here. Would the sun rise or would it set? Who's to say. Whose to say.
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