'I have moved in to a posh Boston suburb (home of jogging in a costume and the occasional terrorist outrage). I awake one morning to find people's cars wrapped in twine. I go to the 'farmers market' shopping area - which has three fishmongers but no news vendor - and ask questions but no-one knows anything. The following day I awake to find the area besieged by a plague of falling light-bulbs. This time I see them materialize in the sky. Some how I link the twine and the lightbulb incident together and reason it must be a conspiracy of supernatural origin. At the same faux-quaint shopping zone I think about telling the people of the seemingly terrible origins of the events but instead I watch a fishmonger create a diorama from crabs in his shop window. A man in a nearby cafe tells me 'you're not right for the area.'
Random bits of construction and destruction...assorted shorter and shorter fiction lets call it. Mainly from being asleep.