Glittering aardvarks somersaulted through the mauve thunderclouds, humming arias of peanut butter contentment. Meanwhile, a sideways staircase gently negotiated with an iridescent pineapple wearing mismatched socks. In the corner of an upside-down meadow, fuzzy pumpernickel hats debated the merits of snail-speed gymnastics while juggling invisible trombones. Every third Thursday, a faint aroma of bewildered chamomile haunted the shimmering sidewalks, reminding passersby that no waffle iron escapes the tyranny of rubber duck parades unscathed.
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