The young lad seemed to slouch his long length across their path like a sleepy lizard or snake in a rumpled skin of pale blue fabric. Once she had recovered from her surprise at the unexpected obstacle Vetta admired the easy way he sat the tilted chair, marvelling at how such precarious balance could seem so relaxed and steady. She studied him secretly for here was a boy, a creature alien to her perceptions, in some degree forbidden to the very thoughts that roamed her inquiring mind.

His hair was spiky and undecided what colour it should be for some parts were dark and others blond with varying shades of honey and yellow and wheat in between. As he drifted in and out of a happy consciousness of peace and contentment his eyelids remained closed so that fearing no equal scrutiny the details of one ear drew Vetta's interest with its pink and purple sinuosities.

Her shadow fell upon him as she shifted a little closer, trying to glimpse if hair grew from that ear. In her homeland of Poldorama hairy ears were said to be a sign of natural intelligence. The boy woke with a start and awareness of self brought gravity into play so that he tumbled off his chair.

"I am sorry. Please forgive me," Vetta said as the lad dusted himself down.

"No harm, no harm," he assured her, before sizing up this unexpected company. "Sneaking up on me, eh?" he said, giving Vetta an examining squint in his turn. The uniform she wore told him much and he reached for a battered tin box by the door of the small bric-a-brac shop. The girls had quickly presumed he was currently minding the establishment while the true owner was off somewhere. The box opened under his gnarled fingers with a protesting squeak.

"We weren't sneaking," Meresinth said tartly. "Just wondering how to make you fall off your chair without injuring you too badly so we could pass comfortably by. Ladies should not have to reshape themselves through narrow passageways."

"That's a speech," the boy said, fumbling in the contents of the tin and retrieving an orange piece of paper with rainbow flashes upon it, security tags for an item of value. He held the colourful card before Vetta's curious and more friendly gaze and her head jerked back a little. "Like to visit the cactus fair down in Magnolia Walk? Free salad buffet with all prickles removed on site, not that you girls," and he glanced again at the blue and yellow costumes, though his gaze did linger on Vetta's pink shoes a moment which gave her a rebellious thrill, "not that you girls need a free lunch or anything. Got a ticket pass for two right here, guaranteed genuine."

He pushed it towards Vetta again, who blushed a little. Quick as a flash Meresinth snatched it from the seller's fingers, ignoring his protesting grunt.

"This is two weeks old," she scoffed and flicked the paper thing back at the unabashed boy.

"That's right. Got one left over by chance. Ten percent knock off as a favour."

"You don't understand. It's out of date. Worthless. The fair is closed. All the cacti sprouted wings and flew away." She made flying gestures with her hands.

"That would be a sight," the boy chortled and scratched an armpit in thought. "Say, would you like a souvenir of the flying cactus fair? Or some unused spillikins? We got all colours, some cherry pink like your shoes there miss," looking down again at Vetta's feet.

She squirmed and tried to stand in such a way that her feet might become invisible but it was impossible of course and the nervous contortions almost sent her tumbling to the sandy gravel of the path outside the shop.

"Not interested," Meresinth shook her head firmly and glanced down the narrow street where she could see traffic in the distance. Pinecone Boulevard was just yards away, she thought with relief. This crazy adventure was almost over. She was going to bleach Vetta's pink shoes later that night, and no mistake. Or burn them. Chemistry project.

"My name is Don Flotsam. What's yours?" the boy said, undaunted by the refusal of the girls to become prospective customers. Time, he thought to ratchet up the charm level a little and make it personal. Thus he scratched his spiky scalp and grinned for added effect.

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"Vet-" the Poldorama girl began but Meresinth clapped a hand on her too willing mouth.

"We are but nameless wanderers, wandering aimlessly, in search of quality," she explained. Then she looked past the boy, the table of assorted wares just outside the shop front and beyond through the open door with a rueful countenance. "Quality distinctly lacking here," she added somewhat cruelly.

"It would be a kindness to at least cast an eye over the items on offer," Vetta said, "as well as washing hands," making a face as she added this observation.

"Sorry," Meresinth shrugged, smiled and looked at her grubby palms before wiping them on her skirt. Vetta was wearing the pink shoes, and these selfsame shoes were leading her into less frequented paths. Meresinth could only watch in horror as the short blonde girl, with the boy towering over her leading the way, entered the shoddy premises with timid curiosity.

The boy seemed so friendly and willing to help that Vetta naturally warmed to him. A sense of dismay seized her though on looking over the dilapidated shop with its assortment of indescribables, worn items and unusable things that had an air of being impossible to get rid of. If there was ever a disastrous flood in the area and much of Cherryball Flats washed out to sea the contents of this shop would be guaranteed to appear scattered along the beach at next low tide and offered for sale at bargain prices.

"You have such a variety of nice things," Vetta said kindly.

"Come on Vetta," Meresinth chided the girl. "It's just left over stuff no one wants."

"Left over? Like a legacy. So many things passed down through the years by generous former owners."

"Something like that," Meresinth half agreed with the over optimistic assessment of such detritus. Fossils would merit such a description, she mused with a sigh. "Hey, is that a bucket of false teeth over there by the door?" she then gasped at so many detached grins gaping out at her.

"Indeed so, miss," Don Flotsam struck up in his selling voice again. "Clearly you have a fine appreciation of the delicate art of dentistry. Perhaps you would like to examine a set or two?"

"Ooh, let's," Vetta chirped.

"Ooh, let's not, ever," Meresinth quickly quashed the idea. "We don't need them, really. We really don't." Then she turned to her friend with a glare. "Plazenby girls have no need of such, um, artistic enamel work Vetta. Remember, we have a full dental plan. We can have every single one of our teeth regrown as desired if we ever fall victim to a particularly vigorous sporting incident, so replacements, however well made and however generously left by former owners will not be required, ever. Goodbye." This last word was said in a sudden higher pitch to add weight to its finality and Meresinth grabbed the other girl by the elbow and dragged her away towards the main thoroughfare of the Flats, namely the bright and colourful Pinecone Boulevard.

Vetta could not help looking over her shoulder while being hauled off and felt a sadness as the boy, head bowed, righted his rickety chair and flopped down upon it in the narrow alleyway again to resume a life of waiting for something to happen, waiting for something good that might change his life forever.

"Really Vetta, I'm sure if you were driving a car and halted at a give way sign you would just wait and wait there until a vehicle came along just so you could feel a sense of inner joy at being able to give way to them," Meresinth lectured the blonde girl, who smiled at this thought.

"It is one of the things I most look forward to in future years," she said in all honesty.

The narrow street they passed through leaving behind Don Flotsam and all his worldly goods, was farther along the main boulevard of Cherryball Flats. Here were all the boutiques, eateries and techno stores with their fashionable and glittering shop fronts that swept down towards the sea in a great wide way bustling with life.

"Fancy a snack?" Meresinth said, spotting the great red circle above a glassy entrance that marked the popular Squeaky Tomato eatery. Meresinth knew the place was popular with Vetta Mindal, for it had a lot of cheese based dishes on its bill of fare. Poldorama was the land of cheese, and Vetta's father had made his millions from the diary product that sold across the world.

The suggestion from the Arbornica girl, for whom cheese was a mystery, usually elicited an enthused response but the blonde girl just stood there on the sidewalk as shoppers drifted around her. She wasn't looking back at the alleyway, thank goodness, but something had seized her easily distracted self with equal intensity. Meresinth followed the direction of her gaze.

"Is it some very large guy with a very small dog?" she said, glancing around. Then she saw it.

Little metal discs fluttered in the mild breeze, catching the early evening sunlight like fairy dust. Bright lanterns glowed beyond thick plate glass and polished columns of some gold-crusted mineral framed a wide and inviting entrance way. People passing by paused and peered in, glanced at the writing posted on the bay window with its glossy tables and plush chairs within, and then walked on.

Vetta's eyes were fixed upon the metallic sign above the door. Shining letters proclaimed it was the Cheetery, the finest Cheese Eatery in the northern hemisphere.

"That's new," Vetta drooled.

"Probably have to remove your shoes before entering," Meresinth muttered hopefully, glancing briefly across at the Squeaky Tomato right opposite the new food place and pondering the profound subject of tastebud loyalty verses adventurous footwear.