The Hedgehog of Wembley.

The revolving door keeps spinning, while it waits. The umbrella it holds, now unstable and trembling.

The floor of glass beneath it begins to crack, but it does not move.
An instinct of past, primal; Curl, it denies.

"We give it our time, the only currency we own - truly"

Passers-by, with life rafts being built - attached to rockets to more unstable lands (so they say)

The Hedgehog of Wembley steps forward once more. Looking to the sky. thunderous crackles and now.

weightless.

(*claps)

*The Frog of Drorughgoro - seen from afar.

"stepping stones to the rabid cup of the aquamarine bird"