Pine Street, park, mope

Tracy and I were walking back to our hotel from the concert late last night, dark streets in an unfamiliar downtown. A white sedan, maybe a decade old, pulled up alongside us and I heard a man’s voice call out. “Excuse me, can you tell us how to get to–” I stepped towards the sidewalk, between Tracy and the car, and yelled, my voice cracking and hoarse from yelling lyrics I knew well. “I’m sorry, we’re not from here!” As the car drove off I turned to Tracy and laughed, “Why am I always getting asked directions?”

Jack and Ben were lost in an unfamiliar city, driving in circles among tall buildings that blocked the gray sky. Jack, piloting their battered sedan, implored Ben to ask for help but so far Ben had refused. Jack, impatient, decided to pull near a man in red and black with a snappy hat walking with a redheaded woman in a sky blue shirt. Ben sullenly rolled down the window and started to ask directions, but the man lurched towards the car and yelled out menacingly, “You’re not from around here!” Jack, startled, accelerated away as Ben rolled up the window against the cold night air. A full five minutes passed before Ben finally glared at his friend and grumbled, “I told you we shouldn’t have bothered the natives!”

Kevin, write a post as if you were an animal, but without explaining which animal. Give enough information for the reader to guess.