The cars started bouncing up and down on the road. The people crossed the street and their heads spun in circles, around and around their necks. The buildings swayed back and forth, their windows bulging forth in great snaky blobs, their chimneys blaring forth "Dawn of the Dust." Assyrians crushed into the city from the south, their chests exploding, imploding, exploding. Vermin streaked across the sky, spelling "DREDGE THE SLAPSTICK." Little gray foxes made up tacky minuets in all the parking lots, annoying the men who scraped their enormous teeth across the asphalt while chanting with their sphincters.
Mark arrived and declared that war was a gone idea. His teeth were brittle and green and his nose was five inches wide and its nostrils were flapping so fast that he acquired about an inch of loft per second. Within a year he would be beyond the atmosphere, and his teeth would be out and poisoning the atmosphere so that everyone would gasp and stutter.
A troop of boy scouts arrived to help Mark cross himself. Three of the scouts, on a slowly rising ball of froth, lifted his right arm at the elbow; another sat on his hand to lower it to his forehead; one of the three let go and the hand went down to Mark's chest; that one pushed up again and a fifth pushed left, then right. Someone got in Mark's mouth and said "Domini, Domini, Domini" all the while Mark was saying that war "will cripple our various industries and plunge us into a bad sort of process re: basic services."
A great swinish woman suddenly went totally flat, rotated onto her side, flew out the window and onto the street, and started screaming like an electric saw as she cut a great slice down the yellow divider for sixteen blocks, lopping the left fender from a good number of cars. Kids scurried out to collect them. The woman, recomposed, apologized to the peace officer who assured her this was nothing a pub couldn't fix; together they built one but staffed it with guinea pigs by mistake, and many a beer went unswigged.
The atmosphere, preparing itself for Mark's teeth, wrapped itself in the remains of the city and coughed out great undulating fishbowls. Its dusky features appealed to many caught in one fold or other, and they drew them wherever they could find a piece of chalk and a surface. Mark continued to rise, describing the formidable lapses sure to occur any time now, admiring the atmosphere's taking in hand of events. The principle thing about himself, he noted, was that he had no personality. The unusual physical aspects of his existence were nothing to that. Many a creature could rise to the exits of the earth and poison worlds, but it would be a find were one utterly bland like he was. He was a find, he decided. Perhaps this would make him valuable, and give him a group of people to admonish, which, he believed, would make him happy.
A vastness of raccoons many and unresolvable crept through the fabric of reality, entering this or that mind, bathroom, or textbook at this or that moment. Mark found this exciting, and began to speak about it. "Perhaps this tide of raccoons, this no small gushet of raccoons, will enhance our discrepant objectivities till they meld in spite of themselves."