The Useless Mayor
Tremors rattled the earth. Cars, swerving to avoid fresh potholes, teetered dangerously close to the bridge's edge. Amidst agitated horning, traffic abruptly came to a halt. All eyes turned to look at a set of footsteps making its way down the aisle of vehicles. Not feet; footsteps. As though willed by some supernatural force, gigantic craters opened one after another, gouged deeply in the asphalt. And by the rapidly accelerating production of the footsteps, it became painstakingly clear that whatever invisible entity the indentations belonged to was making its way down the bridge.
Taxi drivers, parents, students and businessmen alike stared helplessly as the fissures advanced, too shell-shocked to move or even utter a word. Nobody dared to tear their gaze from the footsteps, even as they slowed to a stop, and a tiny, miniscule voice called out amidst newly-formed swimming pools.
"The hell are ya'll staring at? I ain't a fucking ant-sized sideshow. Show's over, bastards, and it's a fucking Wednesday - the city won't damn well run itself!"
