Leroy saw bubbles. He was bothered by their nature. “What kind of bubbles are these?” he asked. “I seem to have escaped from their grip. Maybe I’m on the very edge of a great Cloud of Lethargic Bubble. I don’t remember anything, before of since, so probably one of the powers of the Cloud is that it steals your memory.” He began going through his effects to see if there were some clues to his identity. “Often in these kind of cases, one revelation will lead to another, as in the game of dominoes.” Then Leroy wondered if these weren’t bubbles at all, but pips. Then he wondered if they weren’t pips at all, but people, rendered abstractly to the extreme. “They look kind of stern,” he said. So far none of his effects had been gone through, nor would ever be, because even as Leroy wondered if maybe the bubbles weren’t people at all but were lightbulbs, a lightbulb of another sort fired up over his head. “I am a Can of Soda!” he realized. And commenced to the all important task of dodging shifty little Middle Schoolers looking to get as hopped up on caffeine as possible. A can of soda lives in fear always, but a can of pop is a fatalist, and accepts that things can, at any moment, take a turn for the worse, but so what?
