Write about: the briefcase.
Okay, I didn't have time to give it any thought today (and it will require a lot of thought indeed), so the adventure in Mejaran shall draw to a close this Sunday. And I was only a little bit tempted to do it on Saturday with four line poems.
Wally was a funny old fellow. Dressed in his wrinkled brown suit and poorly knotted black tie, it was never hard to spot him around town. The thick grey beard and long ponytail helped him stand out from every crowd he found himself in too.
Not to mention that tattered briefcase of his. It must have been just as ancient as he was, perhaps more so. If that was even possible.
If Wally was making his rounds, hitting up all of his usual haunts, that briefcase was guaranteed to be with him. The barber shop, the library, even the bowling alley. As sure as the sun setting in the west, that thing would be right there with him. Just as attached as his feet or hands, Wally never, ever put that thing down.
Which made stealing it a pretty tall order.