Toastie nibbled on poptarts while he basked on his front lawn. It wasn't really much of a lawn, maybe 30 square feet of tall, sharp, dry grass that left a nice little rash on your forearms and ankles if you stayed in it to long. However, the sun was warm so Toastie was outside. Next door the seven fingered el-fish with horned-rimmed glasses was marching up and down his stairs; up down up down, keep eyes on the ground. Toastie could not see said neighbor, but the rythmicly sighing stairs left a faint taste in Toastie's ear somewhere. He may have even paused to wonder about it.
He finished his poptart, he stood up, and he went back inside.
He finished his poptart, he stood up, and he went back inside.