Freddy Fox foraged.

Freddy Fox foraged for fried fish and French fries at Friday’s fish and chip emporium where families formed formal lines for fine finger food. Pigeons pecked precariously at paltry pieces of pie placed perilously on public pavements, permanently poisoned by pumping pollutant people carriers.

Tonight though was different, the streets eerily quiet, shadows shimmering reflections from dimmed lamp standards. A freedom to roam without fear of flying objects flung from fidgety foolish fingers for fun. Henrietta hedgehog complained of crowds of children in cramped gardens in silence wired to flashing phones, towers of tossed toys tattered, scattered, ignored in place of iPads.

Freddy had become so familiar with Friday’s food that he had forgotten how to fend for himself and felt hungry. He left Rhydale depressed and disheveled and headed home.

JPOET7 ( @wordverse.me )