Lost in Thought

Chapter 7

A short while later, I'm following Ron through a market district. A small two-lane street, it had more foot traffic than vehicles, people littering the sidewalks as they pass small food stands, popping in and out of restaurants and going about their daily activities. There's almost a buzz in the air as people zip past one another to get to wherever it is they need to be.

Hulk trotted along with us, his head in the air like the most regal dog I've ever seen. He had done this back in the "real" world and I was always way more amused by it than I probably should have been. For some reason, I'm glad to see that he's retained traits from when he was a normal, non-speaking dog. It was always nice to be reminded of the more normal times.

A moment later, a realization hits me: the vehicles on the street are not the only ones commuting. In the sky above us, it's like a futuristic novel come to life. There are flying cars zipping in distinct traffic patterns in every which direction, whirring and humming as they go. It's almost like a scene out of the Jetsons, only very real and a little hard to deal with if you're not used to it. I nearly walk into several people as I stare in the sky wondering how these vehicles don't collide with one another.

As we commute, I find myself struggling with all the commotion. There isn't a shoulder I don't bump into and I issue at least a dozen apologies to annoyed and angry citizens. Ron, meanwhile, is navigating the traffic like a pro. He weaves in and out, avoiding collisions narrowly yet somehow effortlessly. Within a handful of minutes, we're outside of a small restaurant where Ron begins to tie Hulk to a nearby pole.

"Do we really have to do that here?" I ask. "I thought this wasn't like the real world and you could just kind of do whatever you wanted."

"Well," Ron answered, "just because imagination trumps here doesn't mean there aren't rules we all abide by. And some shop owners aren't willing to let animals in, regardless of how well they speak."

"Sorry, buddy," I said as I glance down at Hulk, who is now sitting on his hind legs looking up at me.

"It's okay, but you better bring me something when you walk back out here," he said, tongue hanging from his mouth. His ears work independently from the rest of his head, flopping and pointing in various directions. Almost as if his ears were busy hearing things on their own and the rest of him went about business as usual.

Walking through the door, a symphony of smells waft into my face. Various cheeses and meats send my mind into a frenzy, picturing as many different combinations as is humanly possible. Then the smell of pepperoni sends my mouth into a salivating tidal wave. I can barely keep from drooling all over the floor when Ron flags me over to sit down. I'd become so entranced by the wonderful smells that I'd apparently stopped dead in my tracks, staring into space like a nimrod. Trying not to let the embarrassment show, I join him.

"Are you okay?" he asked somewhat seriously. "You looked entranced as soon as you walked in."

"Yeah, I'm great," I mumble semi-coherently. "That pizza...I want to eat everything I just smelled. That's the most spectacular thing I've ever smelled."

Ron chuckles. "That's part of what makes this place so great. In our place, people experience things more vividly. Sights, smells, sounds. Everything here is so much more to our senses."

"I could definitely get used to that."

"Well, it isn't all wonderful all the time. You experience the bad things more vividly, too."

"Oh god," I said, a thought popping into my brain. "Does that mean a really bad fart would be like nerve gas? I mean, I'd always joked that some of mine could clear a room but it sounds like that could happen here."