A poster on the bus advertised the heats for the local yodelling festival. Not the festival itself, but the pre-competition to allow people to apply for the competition itself.
A man held his finger to his ear while the woman in his company tutted and tapped her toe on the rough-hewn concrete floor. The courier had arrived at the lake and the portal was now open.
Platitudinous congratulations within a prism of supreme exhortation. There are no solutions to imaginary problems.