You are walking home one night from somewhere I'm not sure of, when you are set upon by a pack of wild dogs. They want your watch and your phone and whatever money you have on you, and you are quick to oblige but they are not satisfied. You ask them what else they want and they tell you plain that they don't know, but they are sure as the sun is grey that they want something. You tell them the sun isn't grey, which they know, but tell you that it isn't yellow either. They say they'll walk with you and you all walk. Their leader – the alpha – says his name is Lucky, but his real name is Hammersmith Blue Last Tuesday, and that you may call him any of those names. You tell him yours and they all laugh a peculiar dog laugh. You ask if they have managed to get any good stuff tonight. The one they call Barney Zimbabwe says it has all been crap and that your crap was the worst crap of the lot. The dog laugh ruptures the night.