The weather was nice.
The strange looks were plentiful.
The cans were too sparse.
Today I went out into the most suburban of the Chicago suburbs in search of the elusive aluminium can.
The sun beating down on the black tar of the parking lot outside the local tavern.
Bottles and draught beer only, of no use to the can ninja.
Though the establishment itself may be devoid of the prize I seek, its parking lot was not without an offering.
Cans crushed into two dimensional shadows of their former selves.
Luckily some rapscallions had left nearly half a case of shining golden husks alongside the road.
My black bags are half full, my car half stinking.
Too many cans left to go.
A plan is brewing.
Yours always,
Can Ninja
