The Eerie Waste Processing Plant and Pizzeria was on fire. Hissing globs of molten cheese leapt skyward, landing with a greasy sizzle on the street outside or congealing on the flat roofs of neighbouring businesses. The air was fragrant with the scent of baking dough and rank with the sweet-sour stink of reclaimed animal by-products.
Within the flames a vast shape moved, many-appendaged, bubble-skinned. It brought one popcorn-encrusted tentacle down on the red and white awning above the store front, sending a shower of candy-striped matchsticks over the assembled onlookers.
“Told you,” said Marshall. “Pineapple on pizza offends even the gods.”
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froodle
